


(All alone in the danger zone) Are you ready to take my hand?

by Llyneth



Category: Demento | Haunting Ground
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Ayla and Ugo's A+ parenting, Blood and Injury, Daniella is not a happy bunny, Dealing With Trauma, Emotional Abuse, F/F, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Gen, Haunting ground AU, Human! Daniella, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Physical Abuse, Romance, Self-Harm, a bit OOC, alchemy and magic, physical health issues, reinterpretation of canon elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llyneth/pseuds/Llyneth
Summary: "You don't like it here either, do you?"She swallows, gaze drifting to the ceiling behind me. I clasp her hands to regain her attention."So come with me. We can leave together"Debilitas can be saved, but what about Daniella? An AU where Haunting Ground definitely has a happy E ending.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's quite a lot of awesome fanart, but I haven't seen too many Demento/Haunting ground stories, so i decided to write my own. If you enjoy it, please leave kudos! It's really appreciated.

 

Swirling darkness, my mind floats aimlessly in the grey space between asleep and awake. Body a heavy, fuzzy weight, I slip gradually back into dreaming. For a small moment, all sound stops and I feel myself drift under... 

Suddenly a flash of light bursts behind my eyes, transforms into the headlights of my parents' car as the windscreen shatters and rushes forward to meet me. My own scream is the last thing I hear before I jolt awake.  

"No!" I cry, hands lashing out to steady myself, finding the bite of cool metal where there should be warm sheets. Startled, I flinch back and look up, breathing raggedly against a wave of anxiety. For a moment I don't believe what I see, thinking I must still be dreaming. Through the gloom are thin metal bars. Looking around feverishly, still panting, I see them surrounding me; a cage.  

 _A cage? No...this must be a dream! It has to be, but..._  

I start to notice things that only exist when you're awake: the pungent odour of spoiled meat, the damp seeping into my skin from where my legs touch the floor, the feel of a thin silky sheet wrapped around my body and nothing else. I clutch it tight to my chest, desperately trying not to think about what this might imply – _how long was I out? Who did this? What did they_ ** _do_** _to me..?_ \- I shake my head to dislodge these thoughts, and reach gingerly for the bars in front of me.  

Joints of meat hang from a wooden frame close by, suspended by chains and dripping. Most are identifiable: plucked birds and the leg joints of larger animals like cows or pigs. Some are smaller though... rabbits maybe? One carcass looks like it still has a long tail attached- 

I quickly look away, swallowing bile. Instead I redirect my focus to the table directly in front of me. The table with a selection of very large, very used knives, a rag soaked in blood, and the remains of a large animal. Whoever's work this is, it's clear they aren't finished. The thought sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me, my eyes darting quickly from one end of the room to the other in an effort to take everything in.  

Huge chains hanging from the ceiling, shelves cobbled together from many pieces of old wood, barely standing but full to the brim will all manner of tools. Machinery I don't recognize. All helpful things if only I can reach them, but they're just too far away. I flounder for a moment, pressing myself against the bars as much as I can, desperate to reach something... 

Then I hear it. A metallic 'snick' that draws my attention to the side of my prison -- a padlock dangling, open -- my salvation. My hands grab the air in front of me before I even register doing it; a shaky gasp, too loud in this silence, escapes me. Jiggling the lock free with one hand, I will the thing to slide off before the noise alerts my captor. It drops to the floor and I immediately slide the bar across, push open the tiny door. In a second I'm standing...  

...Then doubling over as confusion and dizziness overwhelms me. I lean against the wall to steady myself, but I'm overtaken by a feeling that makes my eyes water. The burning, freezing cold on the soles of my feet as they touch the stone tiles, colder than the cage that had at least been warmed by my body heat. The jolt of sensation seems to wake something in me, and suddenly the whole situation hits me at once. 

 _I woke up in a cage, wearing a sheet..._ _i_ _don't remember anything else. How did I get here? What was I even doing before I fell asleep?_ I concentrate, my head pounds but nothing happens. No memories... the last thing I remember is meeting my parents at the airport. Everything else stays blank. 

I open my eyes, not knowing I closed them. All at once, this room that I escaped into feels too big, too exposed. My nerves are raw and every shadow makes me startle. I spin around, eyes wild. The back of my neck prickles, I hear the smallest hint of someone shifting, real or imagined and...it's too much.  

I move before I know it, backing up into the bloodied table and knocking things over. The noise as everything hits the ground is like thunder and only makes me panic worse. I back up and up, then chance a look over my shoulder – there's a set of stairs! - I run to them, almost falling over myself.  

The sound of something wet stops me in my tracks. I freeze, heart in my throat. Time slows to nothing, the only proof of its passing the rhythmic beat of blood hitting the floor. I can't move, can't look away, a deer in the headlights waiting for impact. 

There's _something_ under the table.  

 A snarl, a flash of teeth, then a large dog barrels into me, knocking me to the floor. I can't help but cry out, from the fear and from the cold. In a second it's gone – it doesn't try to hurt me, only run – and I try my best to get back on feet that have turned to jelly. I'm shivering now, pulling the sheet closer and tighter in an attempt to comfort myself. Swaying slightly, I see something on the floor and stoop to pick it up. It's a collar – did that dog drop it when it jumped? The collar has a metal nameplate with the name "Hewie" printed on it. I say his name aloud, confused. He seems to be someone's pet then? I drop it back to the floor and with some trepidation, climb the stairs to my freedom.  

After too long a time, the stairs give way to solid earth and I find myself in an area barely lighter than the room that held me. There are a lot of dead trees surrounding me, blocking out the light, and rickety old fences lining the path I follow. I walk with a little more ease, lighter now that I'm out of that place, even if I'm far from safe. A crow sitting on a branch above suddenly caws and takes flight. I clutch my hands to my chest. 

The small path branches out into a well lit courtyard. It's an open area, with a staircase right next to me. It might be a good idea to get a bit higher to see where I am, so I decide to climb it. Up and up it goes, past another courtyard area. I sit on the crumbling steps, get my breath back and look around.   

This would be an amazing place to sit and sketch, had I my sketchpad and a few peaceful hours to myself.  The building around me is imposing yet poorly cared for; a crumbling stone monument set against a backdrop of woodland that seems to stretch for miles. Its sand coloured stone almost glows in the late afternoon sun, the light turning a golden yellow before the sun fades. I can see that I won't be going much farther tonight...i doubt I'd be able to make much progress on foot, especially as night sets in, with a possible kidnapper on the loose. I glance behind me, up the expanse of steps to a landing with a carved door.  

Contemplative, I pick myself up and wander cautiously to the door. I hesitantly give it a rap – this is someone's home, right? It's always polite to knock – but there's no answer. When I try the handle, it swings open. Perturbed, I chance one more look behind me then step inside.  

I'm hit by a wall of warm air that makes my freezing toes curl. As I move farther inside, the heat seems to grow until I can hear the crackle of logs in a fire. There's a table with chairs, a dresser with an old fashioned TV and a small set of stairs leading up to a four poster bed. There's a door, a small fire at the end of the room and an antique clock next to it. It seems like someone's bedroom, or maybe a guestroom? I grab the railing and ascend, wanting desperately to be as close to the fire as possible.  

There's a strange painting on the wall next to the clock. 

 _Something about_ _this painting_ _is...off. Maybe the eyes? It's like they're following_ _me..._   

I cut that thought off abruptly and glance around the room. What to do now? This is someone's home. Maybe I should find the owner and ask to stay the night? Or borrow their phone? Failing that, maybe they know somewhere close by I can stay.  I don't have any money with me though, and I really need some proper clothes, not just this bed sheet... I reach out a hand to grab the doorknob and freeze. 

Someone. Is. Behind. Me. 

 I steal a brief look over my shoulder, then turn all the way round. In front of the large window next to the bed stands a tall, thin woman. Her hair is the most unusual shade of lavender and she's wearing some kind of...maid's outfit? I can't help but gasp loudly at her sudden appearance. 

She smiles at me, an expression more painful than happy, as if she has never smiled before this moment and her face doesn't know what to do. She stands stock still, then moves a single arm towards the bed.  

"I have gathered some clothes for you" She says in a tone entirely without inflection. Her arm slides back down to join the other by her side and she starts to move towards the door. It's a stilted movement, and something about it sets off alarm bells in my mind. I back away as she comes closer, then remember the situation I'm in and pretty much throw myself at her.  

"Wait, don't go!" I cry, reaching for her arm. _You're the only person I've come across so far! I have so many questions!-_  

She turns a little, faces me with an expression that is now entirely blank. From close up she's... breathtaking. Flawless, like a porcelain doll. But there's something... off about her, and not just that her eyes are purple ( _Hair dye is one thing but..._ _coloured_ _contacts? In such a remote place? Do they even get a delivery service here?_ ). I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. _Another time, important questions first._  

"Um, excuse me" I say, shy now that her intimidating gaze is focused on me "but where _are_ we...? And how did I _get_ here?" The question hangs in the air for a long moment, then she looks up.  

"Yes... master." ... _What? Did she not hear what I just said?_  

"We will keep her here for a while." I lean in a little bit, confused. For a brief moment I consider waving a hand in front of her face to snap her out of it.  

"I will make sure she stays comfortable" 

I follow her line of sight, right up to that weird painting. I concentrate and something about the man in it seems eerily familiar. The more I look, the more my head fills with static. I look up to the sky, hoping to shake whatever strange mood I'm in...but then the world around me dissolves into swirls of black and grey.  

They mix together.  

For a moment I see myself, lying in the backseat of my parents' car. A flash of lightning and there's a man at the window. With a long coat, a hat and the all consuming darkness, I cannot see his face but I know in my soul he is the man in the painting. The image lasts a fraction of a second and it's gone, the force of it driving me to the floor.  

When I get a hold of myself I'm alone again, curled up next to the crackling fire.  

Shaking my head to clear the last wisps of the strange vision, I stand and approach the bed. The clothes the maid has prepared lie on top of it. They're much fancier than I was expecting - I'd kill for a t-shirt and jeans just about now – and I spend a little time looking before I move to wear them.  

There's a white shirt with puffy sleeves and a blue jewel on the front. The thing has lacing down the back. I wonder if I'm even able to put this on by myself? There are knee length black socks, a black choker, brown boots and a short brown skirt. I spare one more glance towards the painting before I drop the bed sheet and reach for my new clothes.  

 The lacing is as fiddly as I imagined but I manage somehow. Every piece fits like a second skin, uncomfortably tight. I _t's like they've been made to my exact measurements. But...that's not possible right? Maybe they're a hotel and_ _have a lot of guests, so these just happen to fit me?_ The excuse is weak but the idea that someone knows the fit of my clothes the moment I walk into the room... especially since I spent the last half hour locked up...in a....no. _Don't think about it! It's just a coincidence. Stop overthinking, Fiona!_  

  While I dress, I keep casting glances at that painting. _It's creeping me out,_ _I_ _feel_ _like_ _its_ _watching me, and the maid spoke_ _to it like it's a person...?_ I walk towards it, and suddenly I remember something. 

"Wait a minute..." I speak softly to myself, hand on my stomach. "I remember I was in the car with..."  

 _...My parents?...Maybe? Why was I...?_ But the moment I think about it, the memory escapes me. I shut my mouth, breathe a sigh through my nose.  

This whole situation... there's so much wrong here, but If I think about everything too deeply I'm going to overwhelm myself. The maid said I'd be staying here a while, and that she'd keep me comfortable. The way she said it makes me uneasy, but I'm going to have to trust that right now. 

If whoever locked me in that cage lives in this house....well...i remember reading something about what to do if someone kidnaps you. I should have paid closer attention to the details, luckily I still remember the gist of it: You need to appeal to your captor's humanity, make them feel personally attached so they don't hurt you. Right now, the best thing I can do is go along with this. It's not great but what other choice do I have? 

Right. Let's think about this. I need to get my bearings, eat something, look around for a telephone and get some sleep. Hopefully by then I'll have remembered how I got here in the first place, or at least what I was doing before I fell asleep. 

I'll leave quietly in the morning, before anyone else is awake. 

Mind settled, plan in place, I open the door. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona gets chased and has a really, really awkward conversation with the maid.

The door opens out into a hall. As I close it behind me I look down on several flights of stairs leading down. They look important. I shuffle my way down, hand sliding along the polished stone banister. There is a door at the end; I jiggle the doorknob but it's locked tight. A quick search around shows nothing else of interest except some vases and boxes at the end of a twisted hallway, so I slowly make my way back up. As I reach the top, I see a door that I previously missed.  

It swings open into... some kind of covered hallway? The path is a perfect semi circle lined with white stone pillars, similar in structure to an aqueduct. It's poorly maintained, vines clinging to every surface starting from the floor below and continuing above me, disappearing from my sight. I walk across the path, taking everything in. Right in the middle of the hall, one of the pillars catches my eye. It's flecked with red, as if someone decided to spray paint it. I look over the edge; smudged lines continue down into the darkness, where it pools and runs. I run a fingertip against it, then rub my fingers together, bringing them to my nose. It's a metallic smell... metallic? I freeze. 

 _No...this isn't..._ _It can't be blood can it?_ _It can't-- What if--_  

 _we're high up right?_ I think feverishly. _A big house like this, lots of land. People like that shoot birds sometimes. Pheasants, something. Maybe that's_ _all... Right_ _?_ _Just..._ _a_ _bird. It's a bird's blood._ _There's_ _so much of_ _it_ _though_ _..._ _it must have come from something very big, like a--_  

 I feel my pulse raise and back away.  

 _D_ _on't_ _think about it._ ** _Don't_** _think about it_. 

 I stagger to the end of the hall as quickly as I can manage, nauseous. The first door I try is locked, but the second one opens and I step through. I lean my back against the door to catch my breath. How many more frightening things are going to happen today? It really can't get that much worse.  

Looking around, it seems I'm in a small library. There are so many books about things I know nothing about. I scan them slowly, pulse returning to normal, hands brushing the spines. I wander over to a small alcove where there's a blackboard with something written in chalk. Information about luminessants and azoth, whatever they are - I try to take in the words, but I don't understand what it means. I spend quite a while there, taking my mind off everything, letting the words on the pages take away my fear. 

When I leave, I'm calm again. I turn the corner, content--  

The air is forced from my lungs as something hits me in the stomach with enough force to bruise. It sends me sprawling across the floor with a wheezing cry, clutching my middle in agony. Through watering eyes I see a man - a really, really huge man - stoop to pick an antique doll gently off the floor. He looks at it and -- wow, does that doll have a skeleton's face?! That's terrifying _\--_ looks over to me. Not wanting anything to do with this situation, I back up as far as I can.  

He looks from the doll back to me again, round eyes contemplative. My whole world stops when he throws it over his shoulder, not caring where it lands. 

 "My dolly!" He shouts, laughing through a gap-tooth smile. My insides turn to ice. 

 _Oh...oh_ _no._  

 _He's not going to throw me around like that antique doll, is he?_   

He stumbles toward me as I struggle desperately to make my legs work. ( _Get up Fiona! Get up, get up,_ _run_ _!)_ I'm too slow; he grabs me, lifts me up. His hands begin to dig into my ribs and I feel them creak under the pressure. Terrified and barely able to breathe, I do the only thing I can think of: writhe, kick, scream, struggle my way to freedom, back up as far as I can, then slam my whole body into his. The unexpected move stuns him for a second and that's all the time i need. In an instant I'm on my feet, booking it down the hall, fear of that bloody smear the furthest thing from my mind as I rush past it.  

Slamming the pillar room door open I collide with the guest bedroom door. Force it open, then shut it gently, pointlessly behind me, in the hope that he won't know where I am. Bracing the door, I look around frantically for a place to hide.

 _There is a closet, maybe I could fit? Or_ _the bed...?_

The sound of his thundering footsteps decides for me and I drop to the floor, skinning my knees as I force myself underneath the bed.  

squeezing as close to the wall as possible I cover my mouth with my hands. There's a full 30 seconds of silence filled with only my own panicked breathing before the door is thrust open and he's in here with me. There's only a sliver of light from where I lie, but it's more than enough to see his feet walk closer and closer to my sanctuary.  

I hold my breath.

He's close enough now that I can hear his breathing. He breathes like he has a bad cold, or...no. He's... sniffing? He's trying to sniff me out! I curl tighter, hoping that I didn't bother with perfume this morning. After several tense, quiet moments he lets out a pained wail; the ground _shakes_ beneath me as he jumps and screams in anger. The sensation has me rigid with nerves, back tense, legs shaking as my hands muffle the sounds of horror that escape my lips so he won't find me.   

After a while he calms, going silent and leaving the room. It's almost anticlimactic. I wait to feel relieved about this, or calm, or safe, but the feeling never comes. I'm almost vibrating with tension and I cannot leave. I can't leave this place. My hands drop from my face, moist from my breath and my tears. I'm lying huddled under a bed in a place I don't know and I'm terrified. I sit, and wait, and hug myself. After a long time waiting in the darkness, I fall asleep.  

There's a sound like thunder. Light bursts behind my eyes and again I'm in that car. The man in the hat oozes in through the window, his form now viscous like oil. His face is darkness, mouth a single slash of yellow light, the only colour. His hands are black tendrils that crawl toward me, spilling over the seat between us. Just as they reach my body the vision fades, saving me from a frightening end. After a moment my eyelids flicker and I'm conscious once again.  

My eyes drift open and I'm hit with how groggy I feel, how badly my whole body aches. My hands are stiff and sore. I try to move them and pain shoots down my arm. For a moment I don't know where I am and I panic, remembering the cage I woke up in last time.  

There's a clack of heels, a shift in the light and a flash of violet hair. I hold my hand up to block it and see the maid, stooped low enough to look into my safe place. She's holding a candle and staring right at me. Cocking her head, she offers a hand. I take it, shimmying out of the tight spot I put myself in. It isn't exactly elegant but she makes no comment as she helps me stand.  

"Thanks for the help" I say quietly, embarrassed that someone found me hiding under the bed like a child. She looks at me, but doesn't acknowledge my words. Instead she stares for a moment and says:  

"My Master instructed me to give these to you, he says you may explore the castle as you wish."  

She pulls several folded, yellowed pieces of paper from a pocket in her dress, handing them to me. Looking down, unfolding them carefully, I see that each sheet is a  hand drawn map of a different floor. Besides the title on each piece - _Belli castle: 1F, 2F..._ \- there are no other markers. The rooms aren't even labeled. _Not as_ _useful as I was hoping, but I'll take what I can get._ I mutter a 'thank you' and tuck the folded papers into my skirt.  

" I will find you again when dinner is served."  Duties finished, she turns to walk to the door.  

"Um" I take a half step forward, look down at the rumpled state of my new clothes and wince. Hastily I smooth them down with my hands while she isn't looking.

 _Maybe I shouldn't_ _bother her, but..._  

"I-if you don't mind... can I come with you?" She turns, looks at me "It's only...i don't know my way around, and the last time I walked around by myself, this large man started _chasing_ me!"  

She flicks her eyes to the painting again, nods slowly and says "I will accompany you. Then I will return to my duties." She doesn't wait for my acknowledgement, just walks swiftly out of the room. I press my hands together a moment in thanks and follow her.  

She's waiting by the stairs as I come through the door, unmoving. Suddenly I'm not sure what to do. I thought I'd just follow her around as she does her job, but it looks like she's waiting for me to decide where to go.    

"Uh, can we go through there?" I point to the door to the pillar room " I got ambushed there last time, so I didn't look in all the rooms" I laugh a little nervously, but she just bobs her head and strides ahead.  

The mysterious red stain is a little less frightening the second time around. Probably due to the feeling of safety walking with another person brings, and the rapidly fading light making it less visible. I feel safer with her here, not really comfortable though. 

We walk in an awkward silence that I struggle to break. I'm desperate to ask questions but aware that she probably won't answer them. I take a lot of breaths, try to start a lot of conversations, but always stop short before the words form. I clasp my hands together, look down at the floor and try not to blush too obviously.

 _Well, this is embarrassing. How am I meant to make a connection here if I can't even speak? Great job, Fiona._  

We make it through the hallway and back to the area where I met that man.  

"Ah!" The doll still lies there on the ground, so I rush forward to pick it up, grateful for something to talk about. The movement makes a pungent odour waft from it. _Ugh. I doubt this thing's ever been washed. It's caked with … something. Dirt, hopefully._  

I walk back to her, doll in hand.  

" The man that chased me, he was carrying this! It seems to be important to him." 

I look down at the doll, turning it over in my hands thoughtfully. Its skull like face no less creepy than when I last saw it.  

"Or at least it _was_ important to him, until he decided I looked more fun to play with. I think he mistook me for a doll or something. Dolls don't walk and talk, though." 

Immediately the maid - who up until this point barely reacted to my words- snapped her head up, expression dark. "That is not true. My master created a doll that can walk and talk. It was created to be the perfect woman." 

 _..._ _Huh_ _?_ I had been examining the doll and thinking about being chased, so I take a while to process the words. _Created? Perfect woman?_ _That_ _doesn't sound terrifying at all._  

 "It isn't alive. It has no free will of its own. And it can't taste, or feel pleasure and pain. It can't feel anything at all. " 

She raises her hands which, up until now, I hadn't realized were _covered_ in cuts and dried blood. Too preoccupied with trying not to panic about being locked in a cage in the middle of nowhere.  

"It can't even carry children. I'm a broken doll, an incomplete woman." She clasps her hands together, speaking in a tone which is worryingly matter-of-fact. Like she's had the idea drilled into her over a long period of time until she believes it without question.  

 _Which? No._  

 _Not_ _even remotely true._ _How exactly do I deal with this though?_ _If someone told me yesterday that I'd be_ _standing_ _in a_ _castle, in the middle of nowhere,_ _trying to convince a very inexpressive maid that_ _they're human and not a doll_ _,I'd have laughed. It's not funny though._ _We're dipping into sci-fi movie territory here, and I'm in way over my head._  

"Uhh" _Great start, Fiona, you're a real master of_ _wordmanship_ _._ "That's definitely not true! I don't even think that's possible... Who told you something crazy like that?" _I think I already know, but..._  

She blinks a little, the only sign that she didn't expect my answer. 

"My Master. He created me." Well, o _k then._ _Your Master_ _sounds_ _…_ _delightful_ _._ _We_ _haven't even met_ _yet and_ _I_ _already have a low opinion of him_ _._ _Let's think about this_ _._ _It's slightly ridiculous but w_ _ill_ ** _this_** _work?_  

"There are big differences between a person and a doll, and I think I know a good way to check. Will you let me?"  

She thinks about it for a long moment, then nods slowly. _Here goes nothing..._ _let's hope the dolls her Master makes_ _don't have_ _working_ _circulatory_ _systems_ _, or this won't convince her_ _at all._  

I approach her, stuff the doll under one arm and take her hands, turning them over.  

"Well your skin is warm and I can already see that you bleed. That isn't very doll-like." I try to keep my tone light, but it's obvious this is important to her. 

I place two fingers on her wrist. The beat of her blood is strong under my fingertips and I nod in satisfaction. 

I look up at her. "Dolls don't have a pulse either, but you do." My fingers move to her neck, where I feel the same steady beat.  

"It's strong here, too. See, your pulse is like mine, and I'm definitely not a doll." I move one of her hands to my wrist, then the other to her own, letting her feel them together. Her eyes widen a fraction.  

"I can think of more ways to test, if you still don't believe me" I say, dropping her hands. _Please believe me, this might get weird otherwise._  

She stares into space for a little while, lips slightly parted. 

"No...I... Thank you." When she looks up at me, she really _looks_ at me. Her face isn't quite smiling, but it's lighter than before. Then a thought seems to cross her mind and, like a switch, her face turns to stone once more. 

"I can't feel anything. I can't have children. I'm still... incomplete." She speaks flatly. Even duller than before. 

My heart plummets. _It's going to take more than this to convince her, then._ I lean against a wall, thinking.  

" ...Do you know that not every woman can have children?" 

From her face, she does not. Her eyebrows raise angrily, like the mere thought offends her. She opens her mouth wide to speak and something else occurs to me. I cut in before she can get her words out. 

"Also, you aren't emotionless."

She freezes, mouth open, whatever she was going to say dying on her tongue. She snaps her mouth shut, waiting for me to explain. _First thing's first._  

"Your... Master... told you that you're not a real woman because you can't have children right?" A nod. "Right... but that simply isn't true. There are a lot of women who can't. They aren't worth less than women who can, and they're definitely not... broken, or wrong, or whatever they've told you. They just... have children differently if they want them. Like adopting."  

She's silent for a long time, then thoughtful.  

"Women... they don't _have_ to birth children... to be... complete?" Her words are stilted but her tone is hopeful, and my opinion of her 'Master' grabs a shovel and starts digging.  

I try to smile reassuringly. "We don't." 

A short pause and, "You said I'm not emotionless? Why do you say that?" 

"If you felt nothing at all, this wouldn't bother you. It does, though." 

She looks down, breathing deeply. 

"Yes...I... thank you. I will think about this."  

  Her shoulders sag slightly, out of energy. This heavy conversation has reached its end.  

When she straightens, her face is a little lighter, less closed off. It's nice to see, and I say a silent prayer that it stays that way. 

Talking over, doll in hand, I push away from the wall. I gesture with a playfulness i don't really feel, towards the end of the hallway. "Let's keep going, shall we? I wonder what's up here!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona tries to convince Daniella to escape with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks LansunStar for the kudos, much appreciated! 
> 
> Just a quick note: i have 4-5 chapters written right now, so I'm not actually writing this super quick. In the future i aim for maybe 1-2 chapters a week. I'm thinking this will total around 10-15 chapters give or take.   
> Anyway, thanks for reading x

We walk closer and I notice a door blocked with a metal crate filled with boxes. To the right is the long hallway that man came from. It's probably not good house guest etiquette to start moving around your host's furniture without a reason, so we head down the hall.  

At the end is a door and a dramatic, moody painting of an angel. It's beautifully painted; I'd normally admire such a thing if it were in an art gallery. This place gives off too many 'scary haunted house' vibes for me to stare at it too long without getting the creeps, however _._ I look for only a moment, then reach for the doorknob. It turns easily.  

The room we enter into is -- for lack of a better term -- completely ruined. The smell of mildew hits me first, then the sight of a broken chandelier that seems to have crashed in the middle of the floor and just been left there. The walls are bare, patchy plaster, broken up with long streaks where they've been damaged by water. The floor isn't much better; tiles broken and cracked, mushrooms, vegetation and slimy mold bursting from every crevice.  Huge cobwebs hang like shrouds over antique bird cages, still full with the dried husks of birds and flies. The disrepair is far worse than the parts of the house I've seen so far, and for a second I forget where I am and who I'm with.  

"Wow. This place is a mess." I turn in a slow circle, taking everything in. 

"You'd think with a place this big, they'd at least get a -" My turn ends facing the maid and I trail off, freezing in place. _Ooops._  

"Uh." I meet her eyes and she smiles a little unsettlingly. I struggle for words, face heating. Her smile widens.

_Foot, meet mouth._ _You're going to be_ ** _best_** _of friends!_  

"Um, sorry. This room probably doesn't get much use, does it? Haha." I laugh awkwardly, too loud. It's nice to have a little light heartedness though, even if it's at my expense. I look around for something to shift the focus to and see something in the corner of the room that isn't covered in dust.  

"Huh?" I walk swiftly to it. _Is_ _this... a_ _typewriter? It looks like it's been used recently. That's odd._  

"It's not a computer, that's for sure. It has alphabetical keys though." I play around, pressing a few random keys. A thought occurs to me and I look back at the maid.  

"Hey. I just realized that we've been walking around together for a while and we don't even know each other's names." She cocks her head. Silent.

_Ok, me first then? Do I shake her hand, or...?_  

"I'm Fiona, nice to meet you!" I muster up a winning smile, hold out a hand. It wavers slightly as she stares at it. And stares at it. Then sloooowly reaches out to meet it.  

"My name is Daniella." Her grip is very firm and she doesn't release my hand, even after a few seconds. I try to tug it back but she's strong.

_That's a_ _little odd. I guess I don't mind it though. Maybe people from wherever we are don't shake hands when they greet people?_  

"Well, Daniella. It's nice to meet you! Thanks for bringing me clothes and walking round with me. It must be quite boring for you so, thanks."

I smile, I tug. Her hand isn't shifting. 

"They were orders from my Master. However, I find that I ...don't mind accompanying you, Miss Fiona." She ends her sentence sounding slightly startled, like she can't believe it. It doesn't do much for my self-esteem, but it's nice to hear her emote a little bit.  

"That's...good." 

My smile turns slightly pained. Seeing that my hand is a lost cause I turn my attention back to the machine, typing out her name just to see what it does.  

The moment i press enter a loud 'kachunk' startles me so much i reel backwards, breaking her grip on my hand. A metal plate pops from the top and I take it. Her name is pressed into it. _Oh, so that's what it does._  

I turn to her, show her even though she probably already knows.  

"Do you know what these plates are used for? It's a very strange machine." 

I hand it to her and she takes it, feeling oddly self conscious and a little silly, like I just handed her a friendship bracelet I've made and don't know if she'll accept it. Or something childish like that.  

"This machine makes keys that open rooms in this Castle. My name doesn't open any doors." Her tone is matter of fact, but I feel like I've been told off.  

"Oh, right." I worry my lip between my teeth.  

_Maybe I shouldn't have used it_ _?_ _Wasn't I_ ** _just_** _telling myself not to mess with other people's things?_  

"...However. " She hesitates a moment, running her fingers over the grooves of her name. The minute pause is fragile, like she's psyching herself up to ask something she isn't allowed to. She still looks down at the plate when she speaks again. 

"May I keep this?"  

I nod my head, a little confused.  She slips the plate into a dress pocket and smoothes down her apron, the slightest hint of a smile on her lips. Something about this feels..weirdly significant. It throws me for a loop, so it's only until we're back out in the hall that I remember to ask her something important.  

"You said your Master doesn't mind me exploring a bit. Does he also not mind me... moving things around? Using things, like that plate machine?" 

She gives me a questioning glance, so I elaborate.  

"Only... I don't want to cause you trouble. But I'd like to look around a little and" I waggle my arm in the direction of a door at the end of the hall that's blocked with a metal crate "there seem to be a lot of blocked or locked doors."  

She thinks for a little while before replying, "Someone in the castle has been locking doors without my Master's permission. It's now impossible to navigate the castle without changing things. Master's body is very frail, so he welcomes your help." 

_Someone in the castle...? This sounds worrying. At least I feel better about rummaging through someone else's things. Well... I guess I don't mind running all over the place in exchange for somewhere to sleep and a warm meal. As long as I'm running **towards** a goal and not **away** from strange people trying to hurt me, that is. _

"Well, that's a relief." I walk to the crate and start pushing as I talk. it's actually lighter than It looks! The wooden boxes inside are probably empty.  

"You said... _someone's_ in the castle? Is this someone you know, or...?" I brush my hands together and look up expectantly.  

"Yes. The grounds-keeper. He issues commands to us – the castle staff – on Master's behalf. Recently he's been doing as he pleases, disobeying Master's orders. It's best to avoid him, if you can." 

_If he's the grounds-keeper, then? Was the place I woke_ _up... Could_ _that mean...?_ I look at Daniella, deciding.

_Should I tell her? Can_ _I trust her with this?_  

_What_ _if_ _it_ _backfires..._ _I've known this person only a few hours at very most. But..._ _i_ _like her. And right now I really need someone on my side._  

I lick my lips, voice almost a whisper, "Is he...dangerous?"  We lock eyes. She goes still, doesn't say anything, doesn't look away.  

There's a small table with two chairs near the previously blocked door. I pull one out and sit, motioning for her to do the same.  

I shift my chair a little closer, so we're practically sharing breath. I really don't want this overheard.  

"Daniella... not long before we met, I woke up wrapped in a bed sheet, inside a dog cage in an outbuilding not far from here. Is he capable of doing something like that?" 

"He did."

The two words are like a punch in the gut. She knows then. I suck in a breath. Let it out slowly. 

"He want to do worse than that to me, doesn't he? I wasn't meant to escape." Her eyes jump to a spot behind me, then up to the ceiling. She shifts a little, bows her head, then speaks so quickly and quietly I have to lean in further to catch any of it. Her lips barely move. 

"He wants something you have. My master does too. That's why he ordered me to break the lock on your cage."

_Wow... okay_ _. Okay Fiona. Don't freak out, let's think about this..._ My chest starts to ache and panic swirls in my mind...  

_"I have gathered some clothes for you."_  

_"We will keep her here for a while...._ _i_ _will make sure she stays comfortable"_  

She. Knew.  

This was a mistake, I shouldn't have told her. She knew my size. She set me free. Whatever's happening, she's in on it. She wouldn't go against her master.

She wouldn't... go... against... him?  

I push down my panic for a moment, instead focusing all my attention on her. She's stock still, sitting rigid in her seat, observing my internal battle. She doesn't even blink. 

She tried to hide what she said just now. For someone who says they have no emotion or will of their own, she sounded very... desperate that no one but me should hear. Even now, her face is cold as stone but it's more like she's bracing herself for rejection than anything else. We've only just met but I...I get the feeling that there's no one on her side. Having to tiptoe around all the time, having no one to talk to, living somewhere that makes you miserable...

An idea hits me.

_Oh no_ _._ _No,_ _no, no_ _,_ _Fiona_ _. That's a bad idea, the worst idea. Don't even think it. It's_ **_not_ ** _going to work. You are not going to throw your lot in with someone you've only just met-  
_

There's a question I'm going to ask. It's crazy, it's risky, but seeing how blank, how miserable she is...learning the things her Master told her about herself... 

"Daniella" Tone serious, voice even quieter than before "this place isn't safe. The man chasing me, waking up in that cage, the blood smear on that pillar outside? Something's not right. As soon as the morning comes, I'm leaving." She blinks but does nothing else. Time for the million pound question. 

"You don't like it here either, do you?" She swallows, gaze drifting to the ceiling behind me. I clasp her hands to regain her attention.  

"So come with me. We can leave together." 

 Her eyes widen and she shakes. Not visibly, but I feel the vibrations through our joined hands. There's a pause so long that I think I've miscalculated so I draw back, intending to stand up and walk away. I shrug and say, as nonchalantly as I can, at a more normal volume, "Unless you don't want to."  

"No."

It's nothing more that a hiss of breath, but the single word and the feel of a hand on my arm stops me in my tracks.  

"I'm tired of this. I don't want to do this anymore." Her eyes are wild, desperate, more emotion in them than I've ever seen before; fingers digging into my flesh a little too hard, as if I'll disappear at any second. A slow, genuine smile bloom on my face. She relaxes the moment she sees it. I get one in return, slightly stiff and more than a touch manic but no less beautiful. 

"Then we have a plan."  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona doesn't have a good time.

I open the door and freeze. 

_What. Is._ _T_ _hat_ _?_  

"Uh... " I turn to ask Daniella when i remember I'm still in the doorway, blocking her view. I shuffle aside just enough so she can slip past, hand still firmly on the doorknob in case it decides to come to life and chase me. I'm _not_ taking any chances. 

"What _is_ this thing?"  

"One of my Master's creations." 

_Really Daniella, that tells me precisely nothing._ I narrow my eyes a little at her but she doesn't elaborate. 

 With a sigh i step closer, around a table in the middle of the room which is filled with all manner of science equipment. I've seen some of these things in at least a dozen horror movies which really should bother me, but for now the thought takes a backseat to whatever It is I'm looking at.  

Some kind of enormous … statue. Or sculpture.

It's very out of place, nothing like the beautiful marble or stone sculptures you usually see in castles and old houses. They have perfect, methodically chiselled features - this has a lumpen mass atop its shoulders, a slap of mud that dried into the barest suggestion of a face far too small for its gargantuan body. Organic and rough, made from a reddish clay that still contains leaves and roots, its entire form is a testament to the earth it came from. Except one thing: a small slot on its chest lined with metal, like the slot on a postbox. It seems something can be inserted here.

I wonder...?

"It looks like a metal plate might fit here. I don't have a clue what word to write on it, though." I look around for something. Maybe there's a note somewhere? There's nothing pinned to the wall that I can see, so I start jiggling drawers ( _locked..._ ) and moving things around.   

I reach through the dust and clutter on the table, spotting a piece of paper trapped beneath a small vial of something. I tug it free, then begin to read. 

**_A_** ** _deciphering of the book of origins,_** ** _Seferru_** **_Yetira_** ** _, has uncovered the process for creating "life from earth-soil."_**  

**_This golem needs not nourishment_** ** _nor sleep, making this earthen guardian the ultimate safe-keeper of our deepest_** ** _alchemic_** ** _secrets and knowledge._**  

**_I dub this creature EMETH._**  

_Golem?_ _I suppose they mean this thing? So its_ _name is Emeth. I wonder if making a plate with its name will do something?_  

"Daniella? Um. Sorry, but can you stay here a moment? I just want to try something in that other room. I'll only be a minute." She nods, staring ahead, looking at nothing. I take that as a yes and rush back through the door.  

I run like my feet are on fire now I'm alone, all the while desperately hoping I don't run into that man. It's a little silly but I don't want to drag Daniella all the way back again. She hasn't said anything about it or even acted that different, yet I feel like our last two heart to hearts have taken their toll. Leaving her for a short time to have a breather is a good idea. 

 It isn't far...It'll take no more than a few minutes, so... 

I reach the machine, punch in the word –EMETH—and run like hell.  

I run like hell... and smack right into a solid form on my way out the door. The impact throws me against that dark angel painting, frame rattling. There's an apology on my lips, but the second I open my eyes it's his face I see.  

Neither of us expected to crash into each other; for a long moment we just breathe and stare, wide eyed.  

_Oh no, oh no, oh no...not him again. I have to get back...!_  

The fragile atmosphere shatters. His arm snaps back, ready to swing it forward, to grab or to punch. At the last moment I drop to the ground, narrowly missing the trajectory of his fist, sliding through his legs and out to my freedom. I scrabble a little on the slippery tiles but he's still fazed by my move, giving me enough time to find my footing and stand.  

I run, footsteps clattering down the hall. The door is dead ahead, so I'm staggering through it and slamming the door before I realize it, blocking it with my body. I hyperventilate, forgetting momentarily that Daniella is in the room with me. When she speaks I jump more than a little, a bundle of jangling nerves. 

"Miss Fiona? Is something the matter?"  

I pant, trying to find my words.  

Just as I open my mouth to speak the door bangs open, sending me crashing into the wall. My lip splits, forehead cracking against the brick, dazing me. I slide down the wall then onto the floor with a mute cry.  

My world goes fuzzy. I hear the sound of his bellowing laughter, far too close for comfort. There's nothing I can do about it though. Just lie on the floor like a ragdoll and wait.  

Except what I'm imagining never comes.

His laugh cuts off abruptly and he makes a strange, gargled sound. Shortly afterwards, the door slams shut. I hear heavy footfalls slowly getting quieter as they lead away.  

_What just happened?_  

The tap of heels, a pause and the shifting of clothing. Daniella kneels in front of me, one strong hand lifting my chin. She checks my eyes and my broken lip then, seemingly satisfied, sits down on the floor next to me. We both just breathe for a long moment, then she speaks softly.  

"That was Debilitas, the handyman. He's Riccardo – The grounds-keeper's --  creation, and his henchman. He's gone for now, but he will be back." I turn into her, rest my face against her shoulder, take several deep breaths. Her posture is perfectly rigid, gaze never veering from the wall ahead of us.  

"Thank you. For making him leave." My voice is quiet and weak. The light worsens the headache I now have, so I bury my face against her clothes to block it out.  

"It's getting late, I will have to return to my duties soon. You will be on your own for the rest of the night."  

I'll have to deal with it on my own from now on, she can't save me next time. It's blunt but not unkind. Luckily I have an imperfect solution to this. 

"Don't worry, I'll be careful. If I'm in a tight spot, I'll just find somewhere to hide like last time." 

She turns her head minutely, watching me, expression thoughtful. 

"If you can't escape, come to the kitchen. I will be preparing dinner there this evening. Debilitas isn't allowed in there while I'm working."  

"Where's the kitchen?" I remark, confused. Remembering the maps she gave me, I remove them from my waistband and shuffle through them. Her hand reaches out the stop the motion, then points to a spot on the map.  

"Here. From the guest bedroom, exit this door, go down the stairs, then through this door at the bottom, on your left. That's the dining room. The door at the end leads to the kitchen. It's locked right now, but I'll unlock it for you." 

"Thank you, Daniella." I say with feeling, stuffing the papers back where they belong. "I'll definitely find us a way out of here! Just you wait. We'll be leaving before you know it." 

She gives me an enigmatic smile. "In that case, you will need to confront Debilitas. He has the key to the front gate." _Wonderful_. _Just what I wanted to hear._  

"Nothing's ever easy is it?" I sigh a little dramatically, but inside my mind's whirring "I don't suppose I could just ask for it and he'd give it to me?" My tone is equal parts hope and desperation. 

"It's possible. Or you could steal it." _Lovely. Well, it's an idea._  

My grimace makes her lips turn briefly up at the corners, then flatten into a line again. The next time she speaks her voice is even quieter.  

 "There's... something else." She shifts her entire body to face me. My cheek slips from her shoulder and I lean against the wall instead, rubbing my forehead. 

"There are a series of peepholes throughout the castle, Master uses them to watch us. He's watching us right now." I gasp quietly, reeling in the urge to look all around the room. For the first time I notice the way her body is positioned: closest to the rest of the room, one arm stretched out and leaning against her leg. She's making herself as large as possible to shield me from his gaze. My eyes flick slightly over her shoulder, then land back on her face. I lean in close. 

"Can he hear us?" She shakes her head minutely.  

"No. His hearing and vision are poor, so we need to be very close, or very loud, for him to hear us. The hole in this room is on the other side, next to the golem." 

"So...We need to be careful where we talk about things and how we act, just in case. Right?" 

"Yes. I must go about my duties tonight as normal so he and Riccardo don't suspect anything. Otherwise they may lock me in a room and take my keys. Neither of them will be happy about me helping you." 

"But...you're helping me right now, aren't you?" 

"I'm doing as my Master commands. He wants me to keep you comfortable. He _doesn't_ want me to help you escape." 

"Ah, right. Understandable. Well, just... do as he asks for now. I'll look for that key." 

"Yes. I have some of the door keys, so I will help you as much as I can without arousing suspicion. At first light, we'll leave this place." 

She looks up sharply. "We should go now. Since we're here, and you have the key, I will accompany you through the next set of rooms. Then I really must leave." I nod, then we stand together. I bend to pick the plate key from where it skidded when I was forced into the wall.  

I approach the golem, slide the plate in with a metallic 'klink'. It does nothing at first, then the earth shakes around us.  

_What_ _now?_  

Pieces of earth fall like rain from the sculpture. Just as I think it'll crumble down to nothing, it starts walking with heavy, thundering steps. I slip out of its path but it isn't moving far; Its lumbering walk ends at the wall, where it hunches its body right down and goes completely still. From this position facing the wall, the metal slot in its chest is completely inaccessible. Ooops. _I guess it can't be used anymore?_  

We briefly exchange glances, then we're through the newly accessible door. 

The door leads us outside where the sun has almost set, only the barest hint of orange light left to illuminate our path. A small blessing considering what a safety hazard we've walked into.  

There are many loose tiles and it's slick with water – there must have been a light shower while we were indoors – not a good combination to deal with in the pitch dark. Steam rises from a flue ahead, further obscuring our path. Considering we're on a time limit, coming out here feels like a mistake.  

I'm proved right when I take a tumble as I descend the stairs. It's only Daniella's quick reflexes that prevent me falling to my death. Her grip is like iron as I get my footing, one hand digging into my arm as the other reaches into her dress pocket to retrieve a candle and matches.  

In a single swipe the area is bathed in a healthy yellow-orange glow.  

With a little more light, I see that the staircase stops half way down. The end is crumbling slightly, but it's oddly even all the way across for a structure that has dropped into the darkness below.  Even with the extra light, I can't see any debris. It looks less like the staircase collapsed, and more like it was just never built. _The more time I stay in this place, the more it feels like I've woken up in an Escher painting. I should be careful where I stand from now on._  

There's a ladder leading down providing us an alternate route. I question whether it’s a good idea to climb a ladder in the dark but she doesn't stop me, or give me any odd looks, or even mind that what we're doing is dangerous.  

I look up briefly as we descend; she climbs with one hand and holds the candle – steadily dripping burning hot wax onto her hands and clothes – in the other. I wince a little, expression masked by my sleeve and the pitch black darkness. For a solid minute I worry about Daniella's self preservation instincts, then I see something shiny through the darkness and honest to God consider jumping to it. 

_You_ _just worry about you, Fiona._  

_Those sayings about glass houses and rocks and looking where you_ _leap?_ ** _Mighty_** _relevant right now._  

My booted feet touch soil and the first thing I notice is the bright yellow light coming from my left. It's a small metal lamp, bolted onto the wall and burning warmly. Along with the soft glow through the windows, it's enough that we can see farther than our hands. Outside there is a lawn of well kept grass, an ancient boarded up well and a bench.  

The bench has been pushed against the wall for some unfathomable reason. Even if we had the time for a break, It's impossible to use it like this... 

I survey the area and see two doors. One is well lit, the other in complete darkness. I reach for the darkened door and stumble. My ankle hits something firm, a panicky feeling rising in my gut as I hear the sound of broken pottery. _Wonderful, property damage. Just what I always wanted_. 

I kneel to see what I've broken – an ugly red vase, I hope it wasn't a family heirloom –  when something in the broken shards shines a sickly green, catching my eye. I reach for it gingerly. 

 It's a green-yellow gem, roughly the size of my fist. I take it from among the pieces and place it on the boarded up well. Hopefully then it won't be kicked around by any more clumsy Fionas.  

I think about asking Daniella to apologize on my behalf, but then I remember that we're pretty much conspiring against him at this point. My thoughts shift to my newest brush with death – or at least moderate injury - and I feel _slightly_ vindictive. 

_Yes, man who is probably responsible for kidnapping me, taking my clothes (don't think about it) and locking me in a dog cage! I_ ** _am_** _breaking all your pottery! They call me Fiona the destroyer, menace to all plant pots and vase_ _like_ _objects!_ _– what are you going to do about it?!_  

The thought leaves me giggling into my hand, more than a little giddy and far, far too chipper for this situation. Daniella barely reacts to my impromptu giggling fit though, just a cock of the head and a lift of the eyebrow. There's... something nice about that actually. Non judgemental.  

_Oh God, I think I'm cracking up..._  

Cheerfully refusing to think about what this place is doing to me, I reach for the dark door. It's locked, so we try the well lit one. Success!  

There's a set of stone steps leading to another outside area. Several very large statues surround a door, two large street lamps, some badly rusted oil drums and a portcullis. I loop my fingers through the gaps. For the first time, it's obvious this place is a castle. Every other feature we've seen so far isn't unheard of for large old houses, (Giant clay golems **not** included) but the portcullis really screams 'I am a castle'.  

 This is exactly the kind of place I always love to visit, whether it's on holiday or as a school trip, so it's such a shame my memories of this place have to be terrifying.  

I look around for a bit; peer into the oil drums, stand on the broken outer wall, admire the well sculpted statues surrounding the door. It's easier with the added lamp light, and Daniella doesn't have to keep her candle lit anymore just so we can navigate the garden safely. She snuffs it out (with her fingers – ouch!) then finds a place along the wall to sit and wait out my curiosity. She seems to bear it with subtle confusion and amusement – I suppose it's strange to see someone get excited over a place you work at everyday – never hurrying me or getting impatient even though she definitely has other places to be. 

After a while I'm sated and we move indoors. The room we enter is even more grand and I gasp aloud. 

I've always loved art of all kinds, ever since I was small. My greatest passion though is music. So when I see rows of musical instruments lined up neatly down one end of the room, I get tunnel vision. Soft piano music wafts in from above, drawing me in. I sway with it, enjoying the sound along with the sight of a huge, beautiful harp that stands on a white plinth.  

My focus shatters when all the keys are pressed at once, creating a deafening cacophony. I startle, noticing for the first time that Daniella has moved to a table in the middle of the room, hand outstretched to grab the key on its surface. She looks up at the noise.  

"You!" A voice I don't recognize thunders from above, "Don't you have something you should be doing? Leave, at once!"  

It takes me a second to realize it's Daniella and not me he's talking to. She finishes her action, slowly folding her hand around the key. She walks to the door, pausing briefly to hand it to me. Her gaze holds mine, she mouths what looks like 'Riccardo', then turns her head and leaves. The sound of the door clicking shut is loud as a gunshot and makes me feel suddenly very unsafe.  

"Ah, Fiona. I see you've finally awakened." His voice is smoother now, warmer, a shade away from seductive. The sound crawls down my back. 

"There's something that I've wanted to show you for quite some time. Pull away that sheet behind you." 

I turn. There's a long couch with a white dust sheet covering a form. It's hard to tell, but it looks vaguely humanoid, like a doll or sculpture or something. I take teeny, cautious steps toward it and see legs poking out the bottom that look like they're made from the same clay as that golem.  

I reach it, and decide to do this like a plaster. Rip it off quickly so it doesn't hurt as much. I grab a fistful of sheet and drag the whole thing off- 

Then flinch back like I've touched burning coals. The man's laughter floats down from the ceiling, but it barely registers over the buzzing in my head.  

It's me.  

A life like, albeit crudely sculpted, figure of me – and it cannot be anyone other than me, it has my face, my hair – but it's heavily pregnant. Its hand rests on its engorged belly, a sick parody of an expectant mother. 

 Its face wears an expression that I hope to never see on my own face: the wide, broken grin of someone who is past giving up. It's painful, it's horrifying, and the combination of all these things paints such a vivid picture of something I've been purposefully trying not to think about -

_you woke up in nothing but a bed sheet. No underwear. Someone undressed you. Did they do anything to you_ _? Could you tell if they did?_

_-_ that I'm close to throwing up, breaking down, running as far and as fast as I can.  

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His voice is smug, a sound like slime that works its way into every pore. There isn't enough water in the world to wash it out.  

"That, my dear, is what you will become in the future. Go ahead, you may touch it. You will be mine, Fiona!"  

His laughter is frenetic, reverberating through the room as if he's everywhere at once. All I can do is cover my ears, slam open the door and run far away.  

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona has a bad time part 2. Now with added backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooow. Sorry this chapter's taken a while, i convinced myself i added it a few days ago then checked and i... hadn't =/  
> So yeah. Here's chapter 5!  
> Thanks to the guest for the kudos! Much appreciated =)
> 
> Also, content warning for this chapter: In this story Fiona's parents definitely know what's up, and they're emotionally abusive to boot. The idea comes from the transcript of endless zero.

I only run as far as the garden outside before my legs collapse, sending me sprawling across the wet grass.   

Lying there bonelessly for several long minutes, too exhausted to move, I watch clouds of my breath escape into the cooling night. They float upwards, then disappear. I study them with a strange kind of detachment as I gasp for breath, struggle not to sob. Fear and hopelessness sink into me like the damp from the earth below sinks into my clothes, drowning out every other sensation. Unable to do anything other than lie there, my mind wanders to things far less pleasant than the promise of soggy clothing.  

Daniella said both her master and this man wanted something from me; now with the proof of their intent sitting in that room, I wish more than ever not to be alone. I wish more than ever to be in my dorm with my roommates, or at home with my parents, two warm safe places far, far away from the horror of this place. It's not to be though. The longer I stay here, the colder and bleaker I feel.   

It's made worse by the undercurrent of... something. Wrongness. This _whole situation_ is so, so wrong, but I have the feeling if I could just remember what happened before –- before we got on the plane, before we got in the car –- the whole puzzle would come together. As it is I don't have enough pieces, but the feeling -- the stomach dropping, heart fluttering, foot juuust missing a step on the stairs sense of impending dread -– is here to stay.   

Until I can answer the questions I desperately need answers to : How did I get here? Where are my parents? Are they alive? I can't see it leaving.   

The cold bite from the wet soil finally turns unbearable. Pulling myself forcefully from my own head, I wiggle my fingers and toes then turn over onto elbows and knees. I pry the key Daniella gave me – her last gift before leaving for who knows how long – out of my stiff fingers, crawl towards the locked door.   

 Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. Something... shines. The odd bluish light floats high in the air, then lazily drift towards me. Maybe it's some kind of firefly? Puzzled, I wave my outstretched hand in its general direction, watching it bob gently as it follows the movement, landing softly on the tip of my finger--   
 

A crackle of electricity surges from my finger down my spine, the little bug making a loud tinkling noise like the sound of glass breaking before exploding in a halo of light.   

My back presses against the door; I shake my hands out, feeling like I've simultaneously got pins and needles and slammed them in a car door. Tears prick my eyes but I pick myself up, lean against the doorknob and fumble the key. More little lights appear from nowhere so I throw open the door before they can follow me. It clicks shut.  

 _Right. Don't touch the weird fireflies in this place, got it. I'm never doing that again._   

 Out of breath, I wait on the other side. They don't seem able to follow me – which suits me just fine – so I turn and survey the room.  

It's another grey stone hallway with a lot of potted plants and stone pillars.   

There's a single bright red chair in an alcove which doesn't seem to serve any purpose and a tile that looks different to the rest of the floor. I cautiously tap my foot against it and it sinks down.

 _What is this..._ _Some kind of switch?_ _Don't tell me this castle has traps and puzzles too?! This is too much._   

I continue down the hall, passing by a door and another antique clock. I try to push the door open, but it doesn't have a doorknob. Instead there's... a plaque like a public toilet sign and a strange set of notches cut into the top of the door. I think the key to this must be... unusual. To say the least. Since it won't open, I continue down the corridor. At the end is a set of curved stone steps that lead to... another useless chair? This time white instead of red, and a door. At the end where the corridor turns a corner is an alcove which seems to have crumbled in on itself.   

For now I reach for the door, finding it unlocked.  

The kitchen! So this whole place loops around, huh... a shortcut sounds useful right about now.   

It's quite a big room with ingredients and tools strewn messily about, joints of meat hanging from wooden beams above the horseshoe-shaped island. A small stove rests against the back wall, the largest cooking pot I've ever seen sitting on top. It's empty, just like the room.  

My heart plummets.   

Maybe Daniella has other chores to do first? Or maybe she's had to take the long way around, since the garden door was locked until now. I wince inwardly, imagining her having to climb that ladder in the pitch dark by herself. Maybe she should have taken the key instead.   

I wait around for a while, busying myself with looking around the kitchen. A lot of things are normal: pots, pans, cupboards full of crockery and cutlery, spices, garlic bulbs, dog eared recipe books. Even a very old, very rusted microwave – possibly the newest thing in this castle besides the TV in my room.   

Other things are more... unusual.   

There are glass bottles dotted around, roiling with vibrant coloured liquids: toxic greens, deep plums, traffic cone oranges. The bottles look out of place, like they should be in some tucked away laboratory covered in warning labels instead of the kitchen. Things that colour aren't normally edible, and I doubt the master of this castle has a taste for brightly coloured fizzy drinks or flavoured syrups.   

 I pick one up and it bubbles and heats, the toxic green splitting into a green liquid and a silver solid.  

 _Definitely_ not edible!   

I set it down gently and back away. After a moment I decide to wash my hands at the faucet, just in case. You can never be too careful in a place like this.   

 There's something else of note, a wooden beam plastered in post-it notes. It wouldn't seem abnormal except...  

There are layers and layers of them tacked over each other, spilling down the beam onto the floor. As if whoever wrote these needed to adjust a recipe but just kept adding new layers instead of taking the old ones down. Most of them are completely illegible, handwriting one long flowing line without pauses. There's another handwriting which is easier to read but written in watery, smudgy pen, the ink running down and ruining all the notes underneath it. At first glance they look like recipes, but the more I read the more they begin to sound like steps in a science project.   

Instead of things like "mix two eggs" or "add one teaspoon of oil" like you'd expect, there are things like:   

 **"mix one drop of the purple tonic with three teaspoons of the green tonic. Gradually stir in a tablespoon of the blue solution until chemical reaction occurs. Remove the solids from the liquid and set it aside. Wait for the liquid to cool before serving. Take three times a day with meals"**  

It seems like the strange liquids are used to make medicines which doesn't sound good, especially as some of the notes have headings with names I can recognize: Riccardo, Debilitas, even Daniella. There's also a long stream of notes for someone called Lorenzo. Maybe he's Daniella's master? It's something to think about.  

I spend some time reading these notes, but Daniella doesn't magically appear.  

Scared, frustrated and knowing i have a job to do, i gather my courage and head through the next door.    
 

It leads to an extremely lavish dining room where – true to her word – she's unlocked the dining room door for me. I peer briefly out into the empty hall before closing the door and heading back to the kitchen. On my way I find part of a metal plate key lying on the dining room table, engraved with the letters "ST". I turn the thing over in my hands contemplatively.  

Entering the kitchen from the dining room, I see a gap in the wall that wasn't visible from the angle I came in. The stairs lead down into a huge, dusty wine cellar, blocked by flimsy plywood panels. I strip them off and go inside.   

In the interest of finding that key before the day is over – and with a desperate hope and denial that I can find it without confronting Debilitas -- I rummage through boxes, peer into barrels and turn out every drawer onto the table in the middle of the room. I make quick work of it -- not really wanting to take my time looking around now I'm alone here -- but it's messy and noisy. Reluctant to give Daniella more work to do I sweep everything into the cardboard boxes littered around the place, then close them up. No one will know, and by the time they find out they won't have a maid anymore, so...  

In the end my findings are quite disappointing: a map of the basement, red and yellow-green coloured gems, beef jerky, some kind of clear bauble filled with purplish powder and a metal... pendant of some kind but no castle gate key.   

Frustrated, I look around for something to put all this stuff into – you never know, maybe they'll be useful for something – and find a few dusty old rags. Another short search yields some string, spare candles and matches. I tie the string around my waist, then place everything inside the rag and tie it up. It's not a great solution, but for now it'll do as a makeshift pouch.   

I ascend the stairs, harsh light of the kitchen burning my eyes after adjusting to the cellar's gloom. I shield them with my hand and look around. Daniella still isn't here. _Where is she?_ _Is she alright? Did her master find--_   

A loud, sudden noise from outside draws my attention to the window.  

Step by step I approach, knowing i have to confront these things head on if i want to leave but desperate to turn tail and run.   
 

I stand still for a long while, listening intently. There's only the ticking of a clock and the dripping of a faucet, no more strange noises -– hopefully whatever it was has passed -- so I relax, let out a long shaky breath. Back myself up against the island for support.   

A dull slap echoes behind me – _right_ behind me! -- loud enough to make my ears pop. I pivot, coming face to face with a roaring Debilitas. He's an inch from me, face contorting as he laughs delightedly, edging ever closer.   

His arms lash out and like before I thump to the ground to avoid them. This time I'm more taken off guard by his appearance (the kitchen was meant to be safe!) and too slow to push past him.   

Luckily he has trouble reaching me, his arms stretch over the table but don’t find their mark. He draws back as if to leap over it and I take my chance.  

Rolling over onto my feet, narrowly missing another swipe of his arm, I head for the door. My leg bangs painfully against the hard wood of the island as I barrel through it.  

On the other side I stumble, dazed for a moment. It's only when I try to run up the curving stone steps that I realize I've done something to my leg.  

I can't help crying out as my whole body hits the freezing stone, my split lip that just started to heal reopening. My palms are grazed and my leg hurts - I clutch it tightly to my body, try to will it to keep running, but even small movements feel like icy daggers surging up the bone in my leg.   

I wait with bated breath as the kitchen door knob turns excruciatingly slowly.   

His head comes into view, not seeing me at first. Then he turns, mouth wide. He raises his arms, roaring.   

scrabbling up the steps on my hands and knees, bad leg dragging behind me slightly, I manage to stand up and... stop. Someone's watching me. I know it, but the hall is empty.   

I pray fervently for it to be Daniella but my gut tells me it isn't.   

Debilitas laughs behind me, shifting my attention back where the danger is.   

I can't run.   

With growing horror I back up and up, hands pressed together like a prayer.   

"Exire Debilitas!" A voice, from behind me.  

I turn slightly, trying to keep my eyes on the man in front of me and the hall behind me all at once. Debilitas reaches one large hand towards me then crumples.   

His shoulder hunch in, his head hangs and he looks at me mournfully. It's actually quite sad – certainly I'd feel a little guilty if he weren't chasing me. As it is, I'm grateful. He turns away and, with one last sad look over his shoulder, leaves.   

I take a deep breath. Then another.   

"Please excuse me miss." That voice again, lighter and softer and more pleasant than before in the...  

A hooded figure approaches slowly, like they're calming a startled deer.   

"I am Riccardo. Keeper of the castle." _T_ _he music room_ _..._   

My vision blurs a little. It seems I've reached my limit. I'm sorry Daniella... I didn't find that key.  

"So sorry to hear about your accident."  The words ring with insincere concern, bordering on mocking but i'm too out of it to care.   
 

"Your parents..."  

 _Headlights. Glass. The seats wrenched backwards_ _with the force of the impact. My own panicked scream._   

"As master Ugo and mistress Ayla are both deceased, you, Miss Fiona are the sole surviving heir of Belli castle."  

 _Master Ugo...? Mistress Ayla...?_   

 _Sun. Fields. Acres of woodland zooming_ _past. The_ _smile on my mother's face as she joins her hand to my father's... The_ _smile._ _On._ _Her. Face...?_   

My head throbs and I reach for it with both hands.   

"Are you in pain Miss?"  

The ceiling swims, my head fills with white noise.   

"Will you be alright?"   

My hands reach out to steady myself as everything swirls and blurs and flickers.   

"You've had a long day. Please, rest upstairs. Your bed has been prepared..."  

Darkness. Sudden and total, my body floats weightlessly in an empty void.    

 _Headlights. Glass. Screams._   

 _The face of the man at the window, sharper than before, every tooth in his wicked smile illuminated by the headlights._ _His face morphs into my mother's, the expression_ _she wore as she looked_ _back at me from the front seat. The look she shared with my father. A dark smile..._   

Something about it jogs my memory, snippets of a conversation once forgotten surfacing in my mind:  

 _"There's something we want to tell_ _you, Fiona!"_   

 _"It's about your_ _inheritance... did_ _you know that your father owns property in Italy? We haven't been there in such a long time..."_   

 _"Let's have a holiday there, together as a family."_   

 _"It's been so long...you deserve a break after working so hard."_   

 _"It'll be fun Fiona,_ _Just you_ _wait. Your_ _mother and I...have waited a long time for this."_   

 _A shared look, elated smiles._ _We love you so much, you're so precious to us, Fiona..._   

"No!" My body jolts awake like before, but this time there are sheets instead of bars. It's not home though, and all I can do is hug myself and rock softly. I hold myself tighter against reality, hoping fruitlessly that what I've just remembered... what I'm thinking... isn't true.  

"No... This isn't real. It's just a dream." It has to be, it has to be, because my parents...   

"This can't be happening to me! ...It can't be...!"   

Because my parents...  

  _...Waited so long for this..._   

They drove me here, to this castle, didn't they...? Riccardo said they were Master and Mistress of this castle before they... That this castle is mine now. But they wouldn’t. They couldn't put me in danger like this, could they?   

 _...Something we want to show_ _you... your_ _inheritance..._   

Because if so... they knew the people here wanted to hurt me. And they... they drove me right here. They knew. They took me...  

 _Our precious_ _Fiona..._   

That feeling of foreboding from earlier returns with a vengeance, stronger now that I know its source. 

Puzzle pieces i was missing for such a long time click into place one after another, slowly revealing a picture that i'd never seen before now.   
 

For the first time, I can see the role my parents played in my being here. Not yet the intent -- I don't understand what they wanted, or even if their goal was the same as Riccardo's –- but definitely... 

Things have felt very wrong for a long time, and it's only now that I can really think about it. 

Deep down, there has always been a feeling of... strangeness. Wrongness somehow. I've tried to talk to friends at school about it, but there's nothing i can really pinpoint, nothing i can say for sure is bad or odd about their behaviour. There are no red flags, and other people always seemed mystified that i would move across the country to avoid living at home with them.    
 

"You've got it good, Fiona" they would say. "They don't hit you. Don't shout at you. Don't give you curfews or send you to bed without dinner when you've misbehaved. You've got a comfortable home life with parents who are still married and very much in love. What could be wrong about that?"   
 

"I don't know" i would reply, and try to be a better daughter. Try to bury the way my parents made me feel.    
 

The way my mother put her hands on my stomach, casting her smiling eyes down to it when she said she loves me, as if talking to a baby that didn't exist. The way my first date with a boy ended in her screaming and crying, clutching at my father as he tried his best to calm her. His disapproving gaze burning me as he forced me to explain in detail how the entire date went. The week following that, they asked over and over again whether we'd had sex (We hadn't even held hands or kissed -- just shared a milkshake and a hug) With every "no" Mother's face grew colder, refusing even to look at me. Eventually she cornered me in the bathroom.   
 

13 and frightened, she stripped me down to check. There were no more dates, or boyfriends, or mentions of romance after that. They wouldn't allow it.   
 

Friends told me my parents were just overprotective, that i should be glad they care so much about me. I didn't talk to them about my parents ever again.   
 

Even at University I had to call home every day, explaining everything I'd done, everyone I'd met. Having to speak the same words of comfort and reassurance over and over, having to tell them that no, i still love them but there are another three years to go so no i _can't_ come back home. Having to hear my father's anger and my mother's tears as i defended my choices over and over, having to endure the same few comments again and again:   
 

"You're a good girl Fiona, i know you won't do anything to disappoint me."   
 

"Your friends are just using you, pretending to be interested. The people who really love you are right here, at home, where you belong."   
 

"Don't you love your mother Fiona? Why would you hurt her this way. Can't you see that you're making her cry?"   
 

The calls were exhausting, but nothing like being at home. At least at University my roommates didn't hide the car keys at night, check my phone and computer, or burst into tears and accuse me of leaving them every time i popped out to get milk. At least being in another place meant i could learn to drive, hold a part time job, even meet someone...   
 

Meet someone? Yes, it's coming back to me now, the most troubling thing...   
 

Maybe a month before coming here, the phone calls i received were... easier, less full of unpleasant things. There were no tears, only laughter, their voices carrying a kind of cheerfulness that i hadn't heard for a very long time. It re-energized me, made me feel that everything would turn out alright. Perhaps the distance between us had improved our relationship? I hadn't done anything different though, and something about the almost manic excitement in their voices set off alarm bells.    
 

Then they started talking about going on holiday to Italy.  

"Father's family live there", Mother said. "Did you know they live in a _huge_ castle? You'll inherit it one day..."

At first that's all it was. Good-natured chatter about how hard I was working, how much I needed a break, how excited my extended family would be to finally meet me...  

Then  I was offered my dream summer job. The new openness in our relationship gave me courage, so I told them right away, excitedly, nervously, that I'm very sorry, but this is perfect and I can't not take it and could we possible do this another time-

I expected tears.  

Their reaction was almost... violent. 

"You don’t get to say no to me" Father hissed, tone icier than I'd ever heard it.  

"Your mother and I have waited a long time for this, you are _not_ going to spoil this for us. Now, are you going to be a good girl, or will you force me to come over there and do something we'll both regret?"  

For the first time, I was truly scared. Immediately I backpedaled - I'm so sorry, what was I thinking? Of course we'll go on holiday together – and their happiness was back as if I never said a thing. They laughed and teased and chattered excitedly while I stood with the phone to my ear, legs shaking.  

Mother noticed I wasn't saying anything, my teeth chattering too much to speak. "What's wrong dear?" She said, tone full with concern, as if nothing happened. "Are you feeling unwell Fiona?"  

I laughed painfully, said it must have been a long day, or something I ate, so they wished me sweet dreams before hanging up. 

Afterwards I didn't believe that I really told them, that I must have dreamt it. When we met at the airport there were only smiles and hugs all round, making me more sure that was the case. On the plane and in the car Father pulled stories from his memory and the letters they had been writing to my relatives. He'd never talked about his family before, so every story was precious. I wondered, only minutes before the windscreen hit a large pile of logs, what my uncle Riccardo and Grandfather Lorenzo looked like... 

 

A pained howl from outside breaks through the memory. It's just the distraction I need to release myself from this nightmare, so I shove it – and all the associated emotions -- forcefully aside and stand up, hobble to the window.   

There's a dog outside, tied to a tree by what looks like... a noose? I press my face against the glass, looking for movement. The dog is very still, but the slight twitch of an ear and the loud, pained whimpers tells me it's still alive.   

I very determinedly focus on being concerned for the dog, letting it be the only thought that enters my mind. I pick my way carefully down the stairs being as quiet as possible, not really trusting my legs to hold my weight for much longer.   

Approaching slowly, hands splayed, the dog watches me wearily with deep brown eyes. Its mouth curls up in a snarl, ready to bite or growl at the first sign of danger. I kneel heavily and look down. The dog isn't bound by rope but wire, a thin razor sharp edge that cuts deeply into its flesh.   

 _Unforgivable!_    

I work slowly, carefully, stopping entirely when it seems to be in too much pain. I murmur gentle words and stroke its glossy white coat until it settles. After a while of methodical untangling, the dog is free.   

I check for other injuries but see nothing else. Indeed, it looks well cared for otherwise. I suppose it must have had an unfortunate run in with this castle's inhabitants, just like I did.   

"Go. Now. And don't get caught this time!" Claws click on the tiled floor as it walks away. The dog slows, looks back at me with a wagging tail and protruding tongue. I smile despite everything.   

"Go..." I look back at the castle, cold chill running up my spine. I have to go back and face whatever's in there waiting for me. I have no choice. Gathering my courage, I make my way back inside. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniella gets some chores done and has a conversation with her master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: Blood, accidental injury/self-harm, some gross imagery
> 
> This chapter is Daniella's POV. I may or may not alternate between her and Fiona's POV in future, i haven't decided yet.  
> Writing her is really fun though! I hope you enjoy reading!

 The blade nicks my skin again. Beads of red spring to the surface, joining into a single line that overflows down my hand. I dangle my fingers, watch with detached interest as it reaches the very tip of one. The drop gets bigger and bigger then drips onto the counter.

Drip. Drip. Drip. A rhythmic noise, like the pitter patter of rain.  

It feels like nothing.  

It's always been this way as long as I can remember. No pain, no joy, not human.  

Until today.  

Something _happened_ today. 

Master was expecting someone. He's been expecting someone for quite some time, for as long as he's been receiving those letters. They made him angry first, made him spit and lash out and throw things. But this last week he's been laughing.  

Then **he** carried her in from the rain and everything changed.  

Master didn't tell him about her arrival – why would he? - but he knows now, and they're fighting about it. It's nothing like before where they'd scream, shout and hole themselves up on opposite sides of the castle to avoid each other. No, this time Master is scared. This time he's hiding from Riccardo while he goes about locking every door and resetting every puzzle so that no one can escape.  

They both want something from that girl and are willing to destroy each other to get it. It must be something quite precious, and indeed it is.  

Azoth. The essence of life.  

Master needs it to restore his health.  

Riccardo needs it to be complete.  

And I... 

I… 

In the beginning there was a... feeling. Something that sizzled like a fire poker hitting cold water. It cooled, but steam continued to rise, barely visible but definitely present. It started as soon as they spoke of her. Paid attention to her. Fought over her.  

So much care over one complete woman. A woman who can taste. Feel pleasure. Enjoy pain.  

Never had my own lack of completion been so stark. I stood in her shadow, the void in my heart gaping wider. There was a dark feeling -- the first I'd ever had --  and I embraced it totally, let it overtake me with every step I took towards her room.  

When I met her it... changed. Little by little over the course of a few hours, like so many blood drops gathering on the tip of my finger. Given time, they pool and splash on the floor. Inevitable.  

This outcome was inevitable.  

Sizzling turned into a bright crackle as her fingers touched my wrist, telling me words I've longed to hear for as long as I've been alive. Her touch, her gift, her promise to save us both... unlocked something.  

_"You're not emotionless"_  

_"Not all women can have children"_  

_"Come with me. We can leave together"_  

Not empty. Not incomplete. Not... satisfied with the life I've lived until now.  

Suddenly the future stretches out before me, an infinite line of pointless chores, gnawing emptiness and wishing for a death that may never come. It's...  something now,  a feeling that lines my stomach like it's full of heavy rocks. I can't shift them. I can't breathe. I can't _stay here_ anymore. 

So I...need her. 

 I need that bright spark that restarted my heart. 

 Is this the power of Azoth they covet so much? In time, will her presence let me taste, let me touch, let me feel as strongly as I should? 

If so, I can understand why they're also drawn to her. But no matter what, they cannot win this battle. They cannot take her from me. because... 

_Because we're leaving this place together._   

My lips curl back like skin over cooked meat at that thought and I shake my hands, the remaining blood drops hurtling toward the floor. The expression isn't quite a smile yet -– too wrong, too harsh, not enough emotion –- but it's only for me, alone in this kitchen. It feels right, somehow.  

In the beginning I only smiled because Master asked. He told me that I was perfect, that smiling made people happy, that my beauty would shine brighter if I smiled.   

So I tried, to please him. 

I would practice smiling in the mirror, peeling my lips back and revealing my perfect teeth. I'd smile and smile until my lips bled, until my jaw warped and I could no longer close my mouth. Master would find me, horrified. Force a potion down my throat to fix my injuries. He stopped telling me to smile after that, but I did it anyway.  

Again and again I'd try, hoping I'd feel the happiness a smile should bring. Instead I begun to see other things I hated: 

The slope of my nose, symmetry of my face, full lips that bared a greater resemblance to a mannequin than a person. Ribs that jutted out from under my clothes and the hollow bowl of my stomach where life would never grow.   

The way my tawny hair and green eyes bled into purple over time, the colour marking me inhuman as readily as Riccardo's rapid aging.  

In the end I loathed mirrors, covering every one of them with cloth so I wouldn’t have to face the violence of my reflection.  

But... things are different now. Things are _going_ to be different. We're getting out of here, and I will never, ever have to answer to anyone again. No more mirrors. No more chores. No more experiments. No more. No more. 

I can almost laugh.  

A noise escapes from my throat. It sounds more like choking than laughter. So I practice. 

Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. 

It's toneless. A good laugh needs more energy, more emotion.

I snap my neck back as far as it will go, open my mouth wide and force the sound through it. My eyes bulge and water with the effort, body shaking.

The sound becomes one single stream of "ha"s that flows from my mouth, increasing in volume until it echoes through the kitchen, drowning out the bubbling pot of soup on the stove.  

A door slams loudly in the distance and I'm instantly quiet. I wipe my face with my sleeve. 

_Is that... Miss Fiona, or--?_  

One minute passes, then three. I stare intently at the door but no one opens it and there are no more sounds outside.

_Disappointing._

I look down at the knife in my hand, the meat on the chopping board.

It needs more preparation but the soup is done. I'll need to deliver this batch to the others before starting on hers. This is where my plan to help her falls into place.  

As a maid in this castle, I'm in charge of quite a few keys.  

I turn off the stove, place a lid on the soup to keep it warm. Riccardo's meddling has made my job more difficult, so there are actions that must be taken before I'm able to bring them their food.  

I walk through the dining room and out the door – unlocked, as promised -- then ascend the stairs and go through the door at the top. I have the key for the locked door here too, so I make quick work of it. This one has two ladders that lead to Debilitas' house. A convenient shortcut for Fiona if she wants that key, but impossible for me to climb carrying a tray of hot soup.  I debate searching for it but have no reason outside my duty to be in there so I don't.  

Later, perhaps.  

I round the corner, find what I came here for. There's a portcullis here that, when lifted, creates a shortcut back to the music room. I pull the nearby lever, lifting the dull iron spikes into the air and keeping them there.  

I walk this path back to the kitchen where I ladle up the soup and set it on trays. The spoons clatter against china as I retrace my steps.  

One bowl and spoon on the dining room table for Riccardo.  

One bowl and spoon in the shack for Debilitas.  

One bowl and spoon in the hallway for Master.  

Riccardo isn't there. He doesn't trust me with the keys to his rooms, so all I can do Is leave it on the table. It's vanished by the time I return to the kitchen. As always.  

Debilitas isn't there. He's been scared of me since the first – and last -- time he mistook me for a doll, so he prefers me to leave it on the bench outside if he's in his shack. He is not.  

I stay as long as I am able to but a cursory search of his shack yields no key. The dolls' judgmental eyes follow me all the way out; i keep my gaze lowered to avoid them, accidentally catching my reflection in a small puddle outside. I stamp on it, clear water splashing over the edge of the pitted hole, turning it into a muddy, sludgy mess.

It's too late though, the damage is done. 

  My hands shake, itching to tear myself apart. The soup and spoon rattle on the tray as i slide it none too gently across the bench. Seconds afterwards I'm doubled over, clawing desperately at my hair, shrieking and squirming. The pressure builds and builds. I ride it out just like i always do, knowing that eventually it releases right when i'm about to explode, like a cork in a bottle. 

The end comes -- like it always does -- and i'm calm again.

I uncurl my body slowly, press my hair back in place and pick up the tray. _Oh yes, where was i...?_

_Right. Master next._

Master is there. It's a short walk from Debilitas' shack to the wall Master's hiding behind.  

The square holes are large enough for me to slide the bowl and spoon across to him, his bony hand lashing out eagerly. I hear squelching sounds as he drains the whole thing.  

The bowl clatters back through the hole a moment later, followed by the unused spoon. Delivering the food is why I'm here, but there is another reason.  

I have my own agenda now. 

How much has master heard? How much has master seen? 

"I trust you were not followed" He smacks his lips, making obscene noises as he picks the meat from his teeth.  

"No master." 

"Good girl. And how has our new guest been settling in? She certainly seems fond of you." His sentence ends with a breathy laugh and a snort. Sarcasm. For the first time, I want to answer back:

_Yes master, she is. We're leaving this castle together. You can stay_ _here and_ _rot. Find someone else to be your maid_ _._  

 I don't though. Just concentrate on not reacting. And isn't that funny? For the first time I'm trying not to feel something. So many firsts in one day.  

"Debilitas is causing trouble. Otherwise, Miss Fiona is comfortable." I state, holding the soiled bowl and spoon in one hand and the tray in the other.  

In response he flies into a rage I can't see, blocked by the wall between us. I can hear it though, spittle flying, fists beating against brick.  

"Damned meddling boy and his insufferable mutt! Always getting in my way." He wheezes, out of breath but no less angry for it. He pauses, mood taking a different direction. When he speaks again his voice is softer, contemplative.  

"Although... keeping her distracted is advantageous, as long as he does not damage her too much. Yes... indeed this is a boon. I suppose it is Debilitas' doing that Fiona walks with a limp now?" 

I don't know. I tell him as much.  

"It's important to be attentive to ones house guests, Daniella!" He admonishes sharply. I say nothing. He lets out a long sigh.  

"There's nothing for it. You will administer my health tonic to Fiona in her evening meal. That way her wounds will be healed by tomorrow morning. Take care to only give her a small dose, she is unlikely to have sustained injuries as severe as _yours_ in the course of an evening. And make sure that Riccardo keeps his hands off of her!" His voice rises at the end, whipping himself into a frenzy once again. 

I bob my head and turn to leave.  

"And Daniella!" He shouts, the sound echoing off the roof of the tunnel. "She doesn't care about you. She's a young woman who wants to go home by any means necessary, of course she's going to tell you what you want to hear. You're just as broken and as perfect as you've ever been my dear, and nothing she says will change that. Your place is here, with me, as it's always been." 

The words are like shards of ice that pierce my heart. I walk stiffly, silently away, never looking back.  

So he heard our conversation.  

I should feel... conflicted. Or confused. Or betrayed by her. That's master's intent but... 

His words only bolster my resolve.  

I feel a smile breaking out. Wide enough to break skin, the kind that I used to practice but now comes more and more on its own. His words felt like ice. They felt like ice. I laugh, loud and bright and perfect.  

Master is an emotional person. He believes emotions are powerful and manipulating them is a useful skill. Riccardo does not - despises the very idea of them, even - but _can_ be swayed, much as he hates it. 

 However, I've never been affected, so there wasn't a need for master to waste words _convincing_ me before. Now though... 

He's scared. Scared of Riccardo and scared of me, what we're capable of.  

He should be.  

Riccardo is violent but predictable – always has been, as long as he's lived – but me? Until now I've served him obediently. He's never had a reason to expect – or plan for – me turning against him, trying to leave, gaining a will of my own. The more I change, the less he has to bargain with.  

And I **am** changing.  

What I feel is getting stronger little by little. The small sizzle from this morning is nothing now, like music playing in another room - a dull beat muffled by plaster and brick.  

Why should I accept his offer of silence – eternal, unchanging, maddening silence - when I could have an orchestra instead?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniella shows Lorenzo how she feels about their last talk and gets some more stuff done. Then her, Fiona and Hewie hang out in the kitchen. Also this is the chapter when the Fiona/Daniella starts to get real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 more kudos! =O Thanks guests, you're awesome! It means a lot <33
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: Little bit of violence and descriptions of injury at the end. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has read this story, bookmarked it and/or given kudos! It's incredibly motivating to see that people like it. Anyway, i hope you enjoy reading x [This chapter is edited as of about an hour ago? Felt a bit lacking, added some more stuff.]

 The bowl connects with the wall, bursting into hundreds of sharp little shards that hang in the air, like stars, before dropping to the floor. The tray and spoon follow its path but land with a much heavier ringing 'clang' that echoes through the tunnel. Together with my master's sudden panicked screeching it creates a thunderous, discordant noise.

Music to my ears - the most satisfying sound in the entire world. I can't help dancing to its beat, spinning and laughing - at the noise, at him, at everything.

The bent spoon sails past me, bouncing off the wall behind and landing somewhere i can't see, but the tray clatters right at my feet; I kick it back into the alcove -- for the fun of it, driven by a strange high -- but also to make sure he gets the message.

_These are the last orders i take. You will not control me anymore._

_Aren't i terrifying when i do what i like?_

Jingling keys join the inharmonious tune as I fish them from my pocket, magnified by the walls around us. I leave, ignoring the plea in the way he repeats my name, the desperate edge to his insults. I find the key i'm looking for, open another door for Fiona, then skip my way giddily up the path, back towards the one person I want to see.  

There's a smile on my face and for once it might be happiness that's put it there. 

 _So that's_ _what i_ _t feels like!_  

It wears a little as I walk, remembering that I still have things to do. It's different now, though. Everything I do from now on is for us and no one else. If I'm cooking it's because we need to eat. If I'm unlocking doors it's because we need to escape. With that mindset I double back to Debilitas' shack. It's as good a place as any to start looking for that key, and it's best to look for it early, _before_ Riccardo realizes what my intentions are. 

Searching Debilitas' regular haunts is much easier now the pretense of obeying my master has been lifted. Knowing i will never have to clean up after him -- or anyone else in this castle, ever again -- i don't even pretend to be careful while i search. I topple statues, push over furniture and kick flower pots until they smash, checking their innards for things i can use.  

There's no key, which is disappointing, but there are quite a few onions. I pocket them for Fiona's dinner - the last meal i'll ever make here. 

I hope they're _delicious_.  

The meat is right where I left it; a few more slices with the knife and I'm done. I wipe my hands on my apron, then bump my leg against something as I stand back. 

There's a small basket filled with fruits from the garden and a metal bucket that wasn't in here before, dumped on the floor by the cooker. Debilitas' doing most likely, since it's his job to harvest the fruits and vegetables, trap and prepare the animals we eat here. I pick it up, place it on the counter then peer into it. As expected, it's full with small bloody meat chunks, still with hair attached. I pour it straight from the bucket into the cooking pot. I suppose it will give the soup flavour. Once the onions are chopped i add them too. The fruits will be used later, either eaten raw or made into jam.

_I wonder if Fiona likes cherries...?_

As I bend to place the bucket back on the floor, my hand brushes the door of a cabinet and I think about what master said.  

Fiona's injured her leg. I should give her the tonic.  

I do not obey him anymore, but our wishes seem to align. If Debilitas hurts her too much she'll have to spend time recovering in the guestroom, and by then our window of opportunity for leaving could be gone. Who knows what Riccardo, or master, or Debilitas could come up with to stop us in that time? It doesn't bare thinking about.  

The deep purple liquid sloshes in the heavy glass bottle as I remove it from the cabinet. I carefully measure out a teaspoonful, recap the bottle, then hesitate over the frothing cooking pot.  

Something about this feels... off, even though I know the tonic can do no harm; I take it three times a day to heal the wounds I sustain by accident, self injury and Riccardo, so it _should_ be safe for Fiona.  

But still.

Was master's request just concern after all, or something else? Does he know something i don't? He _did_ try and manipulate me... 

My hand shakes a little, a single drop falling into the pot.  

It decides for me. I turn the spoon over, finally letting the purple liquid mix with the red and yellow soup.   

Whatever plan master may have, I will protect her from them. This is my resolution.   

Mind made up, I put the bottle back where it belongs. Just as the cabinet door clicks shut, the kitchen door bursts open. 

Fiona spills into the room, a walking wall of noise: panting, gasping, clicking, heavy footsteps, the loud bang of her body hitting the door. The momentum makes her crash into the island, palms slapping against the wood. Head bowed, she leans for a moment, catching her breath, then snaps her head up and jumps back when something growls.  

I finish rising from my stooped position and see it: a white dog. Ears back, spine rigid, it snarls and growls at me. Fiona looks down, struggles for breath.  

"Hewie, no!" She gasps, hand to her chest. "Sit!" It whines at her but complies, not relaxing a single inch.  

"Daniella..." Her hands reach out and she hobbles towards me. Walking with her arms outstretched like this I can see the brick dust and soil from the garden smudged over the scrapes on her palms and knees. The thin cuts to her cheek and lip that are still wet with blood. The way one leg drags behind her as she determinedly rounds the island to reach me. 

_What happened to her while i was preoccupied?_

She comes within arms reach but does not stop. Her eyes glisten with moisture and her mouth quivers, crashing into me hard enough that i wobble, balance momentarily lost. I quickly find my footing, supporting her entire weight as she leans against me. Her arms are crushed uncomfortably between us but she doesn't seem to notice, clutching the front of my apron and tucking her chin under mine.  

She shakes and breathes, tears finally spilling over.  

I freeze.  

_What is this...? What do I do...?_

I glance behind her to the dog who looks up at me unwaveringly, then back down to her.  

She's warm.  

Her warmth seeps through my clothes, warmer even than the fire in the guest room. Tentatively I raise my arms, place them around her.  

We stand like this for a few long minutes. Eventually her breathing evens out and she slowly slips backwards, head bowed.  

"I- I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, I..." Her face is red and wet, but it gets redder as she meets my eyes for a second, then looks away.  

I can't help but lean towards her, following her movement. My hands slide up her arms without meaning to. For a second she looks up, startled, then she smiles, small and warm. She presses back into my space again, sagging against my front. This time when I put my arms around her, she does the same.  

Her grip on my waist is tight and it makes me feel real in a way I haven't before. As if I'm as solid and grounding to Fiona as she is to me.  

"I'm glad you're here." She whispers gently, beginning to pull away. I reluctantly let her go.  

"I came in here a little while ago and it was empty. Then Debilitas came out of nowhere and chased me!" 

 _What...? He isn't supposed to be in here unless-_  

I look over to the bucket on the floor. _Oh. He had a reason to be here after all._   

"I'm sorry, miss." I say, actually meaning it. "I had some cleaning to do before starting dinner. Debilitas is only allowed to be here if he's bringing me food to cook. I didn't think." 

The duties and habits of other castle residents never mattered until now – why would they? My job is to clean and cook, not to know everyone's comings and goings – but it's apparent that such an oversight on my part caused Fiona harm.  

Not acceptable. 

"It's alright" _No, it's not._   

"Actually" Her voice fills with warmth and excitement. " Because of that, I got to meet someone special."  

She turns a little, pats her knee and looks at the dog. "Come here boy! There's someone I'd like you to meet." Its claws click against the tiled floor as it approaches her. She kneels down when it gets close, one hand scratching its back and the other stretched towards me, beckoning me closer.  

"Come on, he doesn't bite!" She laughs, catches my eyes and smiles.

It stares at me wearily as I get closer and sink to my knees. Her legs shift to sit cross legged on the floor, dog climbing into her lap the moment she settles.  

I flounder, not sure what she wants me to do.  

She strokes its back until it relaxes into her touch, then looks at me pointedly. I reach a tentative hand towards it but the second i'm in range it snaps its head up, catching my fingers with its teeth. The deep, growling noises it makes are unpleasant.

"No, Hewie! Be nice! Didn't I _just_ say you don't bite?" She stops petting and it whines a little at the lack of attention.  

"I don't think it likes me, miss." 

"Fiona" She says. I look at her questioningly.  

"My name's Fiona. You don't need to call me miss all the time. We're friends now!" 

Friends? Is this what we are?  

"I'm sorry Mi- Fiona." She snorts a little, the sound making my mouth lift a little at the corners.

"I don't think it's you Daniella." She says earnestly. "Hewie's scared of everyone right now. He only likes me because I found him tied to a tree and helped him escape. " 

She breathes a sigh, scratches behind his ears.  

"Good thing too – when I was in a bind with Debilitas _he_ rescued _me_! Now he's helping us escape. That's why I want you two to get along. And not bite each other!" She says the last part sternly, wagging a finger at Hewie. In response he whimpers and puts back his ears, placing one sad paw gently on her leg. His plea for sympathy works and she resumes scratching.

The next time I reach out, he's a little more receptive. My fingers skim his coat, not really understanding what to do or why this is important.  

"Hewie likes it if you pet him like this. " She says, placing her hand next to mine and scratching through his fur. He sticks his tongue out a little, panting.  

"Why?"  _Why am I doing this? What is this for?_   

"It's kind of the dog version of a hug. Giving them lots of attention and cuddles helps them bond and trust you more. Also, stroking pets is... nice. Relaxing. I don't know why." 

I don't really understand – touching his fur doesn't really make me feel anything – but I do it anyway for the encouraging smile she gives me. Hewie seems to bare it. When I finally draw my hand back his soft, liquid brown eyes find mine and he pants quietly. Perhaps this has shifted his opinion of me a little? At the very least, the growling has stopped.  

I spare a glance at my cooking pot – bubbling away but not bubbling over – then sit cross legged too. My knee bumps hers and Hewie stretches across both our laps shamelessly, offering up his belly for rubs. Fiona indulges him with a smile.  

The kitchen feels different down here, so close together. As if the cabinets are walls of an impenetrable fortress shielding us from harm, instead of cheap plywood barely held together with rusted screws and decades of caked on grime. I bask a little in the feeling of safety and quiet companionship before I speak the words I know will break it.  

"Master heard our conversations. He knows we're trying to leave." I say abruptly.

Her fingers still and she looks up. "Oh." She breathes, "So... what are we going to do know? I mean, will he try to stop us?" Hewie's eyes open slowly. He nuzzles her hand and stares up at her, adoring. She absentmindedly resumes petting him, eyes locked on me.  He huffs a little at her inattention. 

"Most likely." I say and her shoulders sag. "however... he and Riccardo are still at odds. Riccardo doesn't know that I'm no longer taking master's orders and he's unlikely to trust anything he tells him. I think from now on...Riccardo will be the one we need to watch out for." 

"Unlikely... to..." She repeats, under her breath. Her expression turns thoughtful.  

"Does that mean your master knows, then? That you're...?" I nod.  

"How..." A long pause. She licks her lips and finds the words. "How exactly did you tell him that? I can't imagine it went down well." 

"I made my displeasure known." Her eyebrows rise, not satisfied with my vague words. She tilts her head and stares until I elaborate. 

" I made his dinner and brought it to him. As I was leaving, he told me many things: that I belong here with him, that you don't care about me and are only using me to leave the castle." Her eyes widen and she sucks in a sharp breath. I smooth down the part of my apron that isn't occupied by dog, and clasp my hands together.  

"So I threw it at him." 

Her mouth opens wide, shocked. She splutters and works her jaw wordlessly for a moment. 

"Y-you threw his food at him?!" 

"Well. At the wall he was hiding behind." I deadpan.

She throws her arms over her face, laughing. The move pushes Hewie almost all the way off her lap and onto mine. He whines a little, but the wagging tail and dangling tongue says he doesn't mind.

"He'd already eaten so it was just the tray, bowl and spoon _unfortunately_."  I let out an exaggerated sigh, then allow a little of the vicious enjoyment to show on my face; she sinks back against the cabinet for support, shaking with laughter.

 " _Then_ the tray happened to land next to me, so i kicked it at him. I may have been laughing as I did it." 

"I can _imagine_!" She hiccups. "Well, you were certainly _very clear_ about where you stand. I bet it felt _good_ though" I give her a wide, satisfied smile that earns a smile of her own and another little fit of giggles.  

They peter out after a while, giving into contemplative silence, then barely concealed anxiety.  

"Um. So will you be okay. I mean...." She gives a small shrug, more nerves than nonchalance, brushes the hair out of her eyes. "You know...?" 

I _don't_ know.

Oh, I understand what she's asking. My entire life has consisted of meeting the needs of someone else, to the exclusion of everything else. Going from an unchanging future to an unpredictable one... I never expected to have the opportunity so I just never thought about it. I don't know who I am, or what I could be without my duty. Without him. I'd... like to find out, though.  

"I don't know." I say, honest. She looks more nervous about my answer.  

"You don't... so um. You don't know if he'll hurt you for disobeying him, or....because what you did was funny and actually _really_ brave -- i couldn't have done that -- but maybe... maybe a _little_ much. I- I mean if something like that puts you in danger...I- If he hurts you because of that...I just don't want him to chase you around like Debilitas and-" Her words are fast and a little panicky, eyes darting everywhere.  

Oh. Maybe that _wasn't_ what she was asking? Hurt me? Disobey...? _Oh, I understand._   

"No, that won't happen. I won't let him." My voice is steel. Something about it -- perhaps my absolute belief that it is true -- makes her nervous energy melt away.

"I will protect the two-" I look down at my lap "The _three_ of us." She places a hand atop mine, where it lies in Hewie's soft fur.  

"We'll protect each other, you mean." Her eyes are soft, voice lilting up at the end, equal parts teasing and chiding.

I can't help leaning in a little, her warm voice drawing me in. She's the picture of imperfection: Hair a mess, covered in cuts, scrapes and soon-to-be bruises, clothes hanging limp and grey with sweat or dirt or water. And yet, she's more beautiful, more _real_ than i could ever imagine.

Is this why master told me i'm the perfect woman? Because a real woman is _not_ perfect. 

_Is it what my reflection has been trying to tell me, all this time?_

I'm still me, though. She turns her head, revealing a streak of fine grey dust across her cheek bone that begs to be fixed.

I reach out with my unoccupied hand, rub it away with my thumb, then slide upwards to tuck an errant piece of hair behind her ear. This close up I can see the flecks of green in her brilliant blue eyes, feel the way her breathing hitches as I touch her skin.  

It's warm and slightly fuzzy under my fingertips. Something about the feel of her skin, her closeness, the way her eyes dart from my eyes to my mouth and back again, makes my stomach flutter. I don't want to let go.  

Hewie lets out a pained whine and we both startle, look down. Somewhere along the line we both leaned forward, squashing him in the middle. Her face heats and she avoids my eyes but her hand -– the one still covering mine -– squeezes reassuringly.  

She wrinkles her nose a little, well and truly breaking the strange tension.  

"Hewie! Oh, I'm so sorry boy!" Both hands rake through the fur at his neck, then up to his ears. He turns to face her and she hugs him, head bowed to hide the redness in her cheeks.   

 "He's been doing _such_ a good job so far – Haven't you Hewie? Protecting me I mean. I still managed to take a tumble though, that's why i'm so covered in... dirt. Some of the floors in this castle are _very_ unstable."  Her voice is louder, faster and more enthusiastic than before. She laughs a little nervously.

Ah. So that explains the dirt and grazes.

"And there are a lot of... traps? Would you call them? I'd have gotten nowhere without Hewie for those. They were..." She grimaces "...Interesting. _Still_ haven't found that key though. I need to go back to his shack to search."

"There's no need." I say, finding my voice. "I was able to go there -- and a few other places i know he keeps his things -- but i came away empty handed. He must be keeping the key on him."

She wilts.

"Oh. I was hoping that wasn't the case." She puffs up her chest, gathering courage, then nudges Hewie off our combined laps. Her shoes squeak on the tiled floor as she stands and dusts herself off.

"Well. It's been lovely talking to you Daniella." She says, sincere. "But it looks like it's time for me and Hewie to head back into the danger zone. I'll see you at dinner?"

"Yes. I will come find you when it's ready."

A smile, a wave, the click of the door closing and they're gone. Somehow all the feelings leave with her, leaving me standing in an empty, familiar room, wondering why i'm still here. 

I turn back to my simmering pot, busying myself with the boring task of watching over it until it's complete. Back to the door, i don't see when it's thrust violently open but i certainly hear it.

_My mind whirrs: Is she alright? She didn't leave too long ago - did Debilitas find her? Did she miss me..._

I turn slowly towards it, in a way i know Debilitas finds frightening.

**But it isn't her.**

_Riccardo_ struts in, eyes wild, hands and jaw clenched like he's looking for a fight.

And. Indeed. He. Is.

Three long strides and he's in my space, crushing me back against the stove and reaching for my neck. The ladle falls from my hand as i reach out to brace myself against the stove top, the skin of my palms sizzling like bacon. He hoists me up, grip unyielding, the force tearing my skin free and leaving bloody, cooked skin hand prints.

The blood drips form a winding path as he drags me bodily away.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniella has a bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, we had a heatwave this week that really kicked my arse, so i wrote/uploaded this chapter later than i intended. Sorry!
> 
> I'm aiming for a chapter a week, but depending on my health it might be... less than that. We'll see =p
> 
> Content warning: rape/non-con, violence and abuse. Generally Riccardo being a big bag of dicks. 
> 
> Also thanks guest for the kudos! <333  
> Anyway, enjoy!

 

My body and the items in my pockets rattle harshly with every step he drags me up, my ruined hands scraping the stone and leaving a bloody trail behind us. Riccardo's grip on my neck is a noose pulled taut, his arm the rope that holds me aloft; long enough that the tips of my shoes catch the edge of each step as we pass them, but short enough that I can't stand up. Precarious. Unbalanced. Unable to ever get my footing.   

It's a position of powerlessness and he dangles me there as he strides, almost leisurely – though the clenched jaw and eyes fixed determinedly forward say otherwise – towards our destination.  

We pass the congealed remains of my last punishment and he can't resist slamming me roughly into the pillar it's smeared on – the only concession to his anger. The old, tacky blood sticks to my hair and clothes, flakes of it dropping into my eyes, making it hard to see. My body rolls a little as we turn a corner, the heels of my shoes clicking together. He ignores me, not even looking in my direction as he retrieves a key from his belt and kicks open the door. His grip shifts from my neck to the front of my dress, hauling me inside the room, uncaring as I fall heavily on the hard floor.   

He kicks my legs inside, dislodging one heeled shoe that hits the wall and lands next to the smashed chandelier. He looms over me for a moment before slamming the door shut, locking it firmly and rounding on me. His body presses me tightly against the door, both hands around my neck. At first he's silent but over several minutes his anger builds, the violent words spitting from his mouth in time with the pressing of his fingers. There's anger there, and hatred – two emotions he likes to keep locked up inside this room.

Fiona wasn't wrong when she said it's a mess – there's nothing in here but violence, a room wrecked so often that no one bothers to fix it anymore. What's the point, when only two people ever use this room, and not for the purpose it was intended for. 

It's always the same with Riccardo - I could recite his every action in my sleep – but he always feels the need to go through the same motions anyway. As if he's reliving the first time this happened over and over again, knowing the outcome but believing something will change.  

 _As if we both don't already know how this ends._  

He chokes me until my vision blurs, fingers digging into my windpipe, a degree or two away from ending my life. He could kill me if he chose but he never does, enjoying the power he has over my continued existence too much to end it. Perhaps even knowing that death would be a welcome release instead of the pain and terror he wants it to be.  

After a while he tires, gnashing his teeth and growling, frustrated at my lack of reaction. He brings me close to unconsciousness several times but he can't savour my fear when I have none, so he slowly reduces the pressure, easing off but not removing his hands from my throat. 

In the aftermath of my strangulation, his desires change direction.   

It's a sudden change, like a light switch turning on. All that cruelty melts away, turning to almost... hesitance, the hands on my neck no longer crushing but merely resting there. Every time this happens I always think he'll leave, push me aside and run out the door, but he never does.  

I wait it out, staring blankly forward.   

Eventually he moves, his hatred and anger turning inwards as he shifts his grip to my wrists, one hand holding them above my head and the other turning my face away. His touch and his voice are almost gentle, telling me not to look at him.   

Then he reaches for his belt and his excuses, bundling up his self hatred and tossing it on the floor along with his trousers, leaving only viciousness behind.   

  

The door bangs rhythmically with his harsh movement.

I look away as instructed but it's not enough. One hand crushes my face into the door and the vile words spill from his mouth anew, this time much more specific: my failures as a woman and a sexual partner. It isn't new and I bare it, but there's something... different now. Or should I say,  _someone_ different now.   

"Look at you" He speaks around grunts of exertion, "Pathetic. You feel nothing. You can't even enjoy this. What kind of woman are you?" He pushes me more forcefully against the door, his face so close to mine that I can smell his cracked, rotting flesh; a welcome reminder that I'm not the only one who's incomplete.   

His breath is moist against the shell of my ear, voice low, "I bet Fiona will enjoy it."   

The words roll off his tongue, voice disgustingly satisfied, "A real woman! Imagine what wonderful noises she'll make. How she'll beg, and cry, and scream! " A laugh, long and low. "Or maybe you won't have to – maybe I'll make you watch, make you realize just how broken you are."   

The thought of being incomplete, of being unable to feel the sensations I should, leaves me feeling empty just like it always does, but now there's an edge to it: Another woman – a real woman – to compare myself against. And just as I always feared, I am lacking.  

I concentrate on feeling something... anything in response to his actions, anything that will prove him wrong. Something that will prove I'm as human as Fiona believes I am.  

But there's nothing.  

I close my eyes, listening instead of feeling, but that doesn't help either. The more I hear the less I can tolerate, the noises blending together and creating a swirling mass of hot and cold inside my chest. It's impossible and suddenly it's too much and I need to leave but I struggle and his fingers clamp my wrists so I can't move and I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.  

 _I can't breathe._  

His body goes stock still.  

"Are you _hyperventilating_?" He says, something like wonder in his voice.  

He draws back then looks at my face, his own going through several expressions before settling on a wide, gleeful smile in response to what he sees there. It's all teeth, a smile that promises all manner of experiments and torture devices.  

"Well, well. Isn't _this_ interesting?" 

He circles me like a vulture circles carrion, picks his trousers from the floor and steps into them without looking away, as if I'm a puzzle that will disappear if he does, or the outcome of an experiment he always wanted but never prepared for, leaving him out of his depth and trying not to show it.  

He stares for a long time, long enough that my breathing returns to normal, then speaks.  

"Make yourself presentable, Daniella. I have something I need to talk to you about." 

He turns, busying himself with dragging a single chair into the middle of the room. I drag my dress down from where it got tangled around my hips, press my hair into place.  

He motions to the chair with false cheerfulness.  

"Take a seat." 

I do as he says, a strange sinking feeling in my stomach. It's the first time he's told me to stay afterwards – usually he just unlocks the door and leaves – but today is different and it bothers me. He paces back and forth, no indication that he means to sit.  

"So..." He says at length. "Where is the old man hiding?"  

- 

Frustration growing, he raises his hand to hit me once again. 

He does it harder than before, giving in to his Impatience, but once again it has no effect. At first he was confident, riding the high from making me react, but now he's snapping and snarling again.  

He tries everything, but nothing works.  

"Where's he hiding?"  

Slap 

"Where is he?" 

Slap 

He lets loose a flurry of hits, my lip bursting and bruising. There's the smallest creak from outside – the door or maybe the sound of someone shifting - and he swivels to face it.  

"I won’t let him touch her!"  

He walks towards the door, balling his fists.

"Do you hear me old man? The azoth is mine!" 

Another step and the door handle jiggles, followed by a series of dull thumps like someone throwing themselves against the door, then the sound of barking.  

We both realize who it is at once. He turns to me, letting me see his sly smile.  

"Oh, Miss Fiona! What an unexpected pleasure. I thought you were resting in your room." His tone is unnaturally pleasant, light and friendly.  

Fiona doesn't believe it for a moment.  

There's more thumping and her voice, muffled through the door, "Open this door! Get away from her! _Daniella_ -" 

"So impatient..." He says under his breath, finding the key and opening the door with a flourish.  

The second it's open enough for her to squeeze through, she's on him.  

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't a boot to the groin. 

He curls in on himself, winded, but can't even react before Hewie latches himself to his arm, preventing him from grabbing her. She races into the room, grabs my hand, then pulls me along, Hewie hot on our heels. 

He turns, intending to follow, then speaks. "You can't escape me Fiona! Your azoth is mine!" Hewie jumps back for one more bite, leaving him flailing against the door frame.

Just to add insult to injury, she slams the door in his face. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new member joins team Fiona. 
> 
> Also featuring: Unrealistic key physics, Alchemy that's really magic and a confrontation that explains a lot of things but is mostly kind of awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i wrote all of this chapter today. Like, all 12, maybe 13 pages of it? I might come back later to edit some stuff, but for now...
> 
> ...I need to go lie down. 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for the kudos guests! And thanks to FireFoxxy for the lovely comment!  
> You are all awesome =D  
> Oh also, content note: Violence and descriptions of injury.   
> Thanks for reading! x  
> [Edited as of 28/06 - i changed some things, added some others. Hopefully it's better!]

Her fingers slip and slide against my bloody palm, fingernails scratching ridges into the wound as she struggles for purchase. The warm blood blooms anew, clumps of red embedding under her nails.  

 She doesn't notice, consumed with staying upright, breathing, running.    
 

Antagonizing Riccardo was a grave mistake, one that all _three_ of us are paying for. I don't even _know_ what he'd do if he caught us now... only that It's best not to find out. 

His laughter floats down the hall as he walks towards us at a sedate pace, the confidence of a hunter who knows his prey will tire before he does.   

_Unfortunately, he isn't wrong._   

The injury she sustained before returns with a vengeance – most likely aggravated by her assault on Riccardo which, while satisfying to watch, probably wasn't the wisest course of action - making her gait stilted and uneven. With our combined effort we manage to force open the door and make it across the landing before her leg gives out, body finally reaching its limit. Hewie whines, concerned as she leans heavily against me.   
 

It couldn't come at a worse time and the look on her exhausted face says she knows it.   

I look to my right, straight at the guest room door – the place she most urgently needs to be but Riccardo isn't giving up the chase – then down, beyond the stairs.   

 She meets my eyes, sweat shining on her brow and above her lips, her expression both grim and determined.    

"Do you still have the dining room key?" She asks, breathing heavily. I nod, one hand resting briefly on the keys in my pocket before I readjust my hold on her waist. She slings an arm hurriedly over my shoulders, spurred on by the sound of Riccardo's footsteps echoing behind us, too close for comfort.   

_He's taking his time,_ _savouring_ _the hunt._   

His cockiness serves us well however - he may be violent but he is at least unarmed. I doubt our chances of escape would be good otherwise. 

  We hobble down the steps, almost tumbling through the dining room door.   

As soon as we cross the threshold the top door opens, the heavy thud of his footsteps getting louder and closer together, no longer content to drag the game out for his own amusement. He spends no time closing the distance between us, descending the steps in leaps of two.

His boots leave the last step just as we throw ourselves against the door, keeping it closed with our bodies. I brace it with my shoulder, fumble through my keys for the right one. It should be easy to find - a single key on a short loop of cord, kept separate from the metal chain which contains the rest of the castle's keys. 

Hewie stands behind us growling as I search, his gums pulled back to show his sharp teeth, stance firm and unshakable even as he flinches at every thump Riccardo makes.   

My fingers find the cord but my damaged hands are too clumsy and slippery to grip it properly. I will them not to shake, not to fail us, not now.  

I look fleetingly at Fiona as she struggles next to me – scared, desperate, boots slipping against the tiled floor, legs shaking, trying and failing to keep her footing as he rams the door from the other side. Her watery eyes bore into mine, begging me to get on with it. I clench my fist as hard as i can around it, hoping force will make my uncoordinated fingers work together.  

**I drop it.**   

It slips free of my grasp, my pulpy, dripping hands lending momentum to it that it otherwise wouldn't have – like a wet bar of soap flying from a tightly closed fist -  sending it rattling across the room. I might as well have thrown it.  

Time seems to stop as it hits the red tablecloth covering the dining table, dropping down and disappearing from view. The cloth - far too big for the table - pools on the floor at either side, creating large waves and ripples of fabric, perfect for losing something small inside. Who knows how long it would take for us to find it?  

 Certainly more time than we have.   

 Fiona peers up at me, her frightened eyes wide, face pale.   

Her horror seems to bleed into me like tepid, murky water that soaks my clothes, sinks into my skin wherever we touch. Heart racing, unable to breathe, my face freezes but not in indifference. When our eyes lock, i am sure my face reflects hers. 

We share a look that starts as the meeting of eyes but ends with us both staring at her legs as they collapse, folding underneath her like a house of cards. She only has her upper body strength to keep him out now, and even that is waning.     

I need to _do_ something, but what?

I can't think, can't move my fingers. The thickened blood cools on my hands, making them too stiff to move.  My mind isn't much better. I feel woozy, a sure sign that i need another dose of tonic to heal my injuries.

_Now is not the time. Move!_

The sight of his fingers slithering from behind the door, slowly but surely widening the gap, pushing Fiona backwards, is what snaps me out of it.  

Looking around for something, anything, to help us, I see a high backed chair. It's too tall to put under the knob, but there are gaps either side of the chair back, large enough to jam it into.    

I slide my unresponsive hands through the gaps, drag it screeching across the floor.There's a loud cry of pain as i ram the door with my shoulder, crushing his hand. He withdraws long enough for me to close it firmly, force the door knob through the gap in the chair. It isn't sturdy but it gives us time to run.  

I peel Fiona off the door and she lands heavily against me, her breath forcing its way out of her mouth in loud, choked gasps. We stagger to the kitchen.  

Our bodies hit the counter and she drops to the floor, sliding into the middle of the U shape they make and crouching low. Her hand lashes out to grab a bottle on the counter above her, wrapping her fingers around the neck.  
 

I scan the room for a weapon of my own, spotting the knife still lying on the chopping board.      
 

The sound of splintering wood, then heavy footsteps makes me freeze. The first is the chair breaking apart, but the other... 

_Is behind us. It's coming from the other door._  

I whirl around, eyes landing on the door behind me just as Debilitas wanders in, Riccardo striding in only moments later.

  
In a second we're penned in, master and servant cornering us from both sides. It's too perfect, too _coincidental_ for it not to be a trap.  

_What did i expect?_

_Did i really think we would leave this place without a fight?_

I lunge for the knife, willing and more than capable of fighting for my freedom now that i've had the smallest taste of it. Blocking Riccardo's path to Fiona with my body and the length of the blade - sandwiched between two hands since i'm unable to curl my fingers around it - i smile wide, daring them both to try.  

Sliding my gaze between them, I try to decide who is the greater threat. 

Debilitas seems subdued, approaching carefully from behind, hands pressed together. He doesn't seem like he's going to attack but that could swiftly change. Hewie barks at him anyway, shifting behind me and covering my back. In response, I turn my full attention back to Riccardo.  

"Well, well, well. Isn't _this_ a surprise! I didn't know you had it in you."  

He laughs mockingly and raises his hands in supplication, a move that I might have believed had he not chased after us.    

"I wonder what the old man thinks about this development? Or perhaps he already knows." He stares me up and down, like he doesn't quite understand what he's seeing. His mouth ticks up, eyes shifting to Fiona for a fraction of a second, then back to me.  

"Perhaps he's ordered you to her side, commanded you to protect her from me?" His voice is smug and it lilts at the end as if telling a humorous anecdote. 

"How long will it take, i wonder, before you turn around and drive that knife into her back?"

It's a bold-faced attempt to manipulate and I refuse to let it stand. 

"Lorenzo" I say, working my mouth around the unfamiliar word "Is my master no longer." I raise my blade slowly in front of me, then point the tip towards him. I catch the way his eyes widen and i can't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the kitchen.  

His smile falters. A glance behind me reveals that Fiona is unmoved by his attempt to divide us. I see a split second of something like fear and he pauses, unable to find a response. Instead he changes tactics, turning all his attention - and disingenuous charm - on Fiona instead.  

"Come now, Miss Fiona. I don't mean to harm you" He smiles insincerely, takes a step forward. I push my knife close to his throat.    

Fiona's blonde head bobs above the cabinet as she rises, her arm pulled back in preparation to throw.       
 

"But you have something that belongs to me, something you inherited from your father... If you would just give me your azoth..." He spreads his hands wide, palms up.

Neither of us back down or look away. She stands taller and speaks.   
 

"Azoth... I keep hearing that word but i don't know what it means! If i could give it to you i would - just to make this nightmare end, just so you leave me alone - but i _don't know_ how to do that." She shakes her head vigorously, ponytail flying side to side.

"Tell me, what exactly _do you want me to do?_   Be _very_ specific!"    
 

His oily smile twists, turns vicious. "I need you to give birth to me. If you would just lend me your womb..." 

_Motherhood. childbirth. A perfect woman to create a perfect baby. It is no surprise that Riccardo desires her, but Fiona-_

_Fiona..._

She _shakes_.

Her face twists, an expression not unlike earlier when i dropped the key, chest heaving and hands clawing at her throat like she can't breathe.

_Can't breathe? Yes. I know what that's like, don't i?_

Before, in that room. Unable to breathe, unable to tolerate a single second more.

_If he has her, she will lose more than her freedom._

The thought solidifies in my mind and suddenly i want to rip him apart, pressing the tip of my weapon into his throat hard enough to smudge the blade in his gelatinous lifeblood. Fiona reaches for me, shaking her head vigorously so I pull back, hands still itching for violence.

He smirks, turning to face me. A quip - perhaps a joke at my expense, or a sarcastic line thanking her for reigning me in - on the tip of his tongue.

  
He never gets to say it.

The bottle flies from her hand, hitting the door frame above and showering him in bright orange liquid.  

She may not wish him dead, but she doesn't plan on making it easy either.

Hewie howls, the unpleasant sound promising a variety of painful injuries if he comes any closer. Her legs are weak, lips trembling, but her gaze holds his firmly, one arm reaching behind her for the next projectile.      
 

He lets out a long sigh, drops his hands and shakes them out, sending little orange globules spraying everywhere. 

"This is your answer, I suppose? Very well. Watch closely, Fiona. Look at me!"

His hands move to his soaked hood, lifting it away from his face and exposing the deep fissures where the flesh has oozed, cracked and broken apart. His milky, dead eyes widen as he grins at Fiona's sudden discomfort.    
 

She gasps, horrified, backing into the bottles behind her and making them clink together.  

The sound makes Debilitas' eyes widen, take another step forward with a hand outstretched to her. Hewie growls in warning, attention divided. 

"What... what is this? This _can't_ be real! It can't. My father told me he had a brother... but he _never_ said anything about twins!"   
 

Her hands shake and she clutches her head, eyes flitting everywhere at once. I crunch the fingers of one hand around the blade handle so I can hold it one-handed. The arm with the knife stretches as far as it will go, my other arm reaching behind and finding her shoulder. It's the only comfort i can give while also keeping her safe.    
 

"Brother" He sneers, walking as close to my blade as he dares. "No, we are clones! Your azoth should have been _mine_ but it was given to your father instead, and then he wasted it on you - _you_ , who are unable and unwilling to appreciate such a gift!"   
 

He balls his fists, pacing from left to right, agitated. Fiona can only stare and breathe, speechless. Her silence only seems to anger him more.   
 

"Incomplete!" The word explodes from his lips, " Forced to resort to such lowly methods just to survive! Do you know what that has _done_ to me?" He jabs a finger towards his face, teeth bared. She startles, gasps and looks away like she's been slapped.    
 

"No, i don't expect you do."

He backs off then continues, voice unnaturally pleasant, "But that's alright. You will give birth to me all over again and this time I will be whole. I will inherit the essence of life, the eternal knowledge of Aureolus Belli, and cheat death just as he has done for centuries. Then you-"      
 

Debilitas edges closer, hesitantly. The movement catches Riccardo's attention and he sighs, waves a distracted hand towards him.     
 

 "Exire, Debilitas."   

It's the command he uses to send him away, but Debilitas isn't moving.    

His gaze snaps from Fiona to him.    

"I said... _Exire_. Debilitas."   
 

Yet again he makes no attempt to leave. Riccardo reaches his limit, chagrined at Debilitas' blatant disobedience. 

Eyes wild, he hisses " _Leave_!" the single word forced out through clenched teeth.  
 

Debilitas blinks owlishly, ignoring Riccardo in favour of Fiona, huddled in the corner and trying not to cry.

His eyes... narrow.

My knife wavers in my hand, hardly believing it when he stands next to me, another brick in the wall surrounding Fiona.    

Riccardo doesn't either: his whole body flinches, mouth open in shock. He takes a small step backwards.   
 

"So it's like that, is it?" He sneers, voice low and dangerous, eying Debilitas like he's dog filth on his shoe.   
 

"You would make an enemy of me as well! Worthless... defective... ungrateful... I should never have created you in the first place!"   

Debilitas huffs an annoyed breath through his nose, clearly unimpressed. He approaches with his fists clenched at his sides, a solid wall that Riccardo has no hope of toppling. With no choice and nowhere else to go he retreats with a curse, backing himself out of the room. 

I move with him, keeping my knife level with his throat. The moment he's out of the kitchen Debilitas slams the door shut. 

We stand silent, tense, for a good thirty seconds. He doesn't reappear.    

Fiona sags against the island in relief, but I'm _far_ from satisfied.    

I slash the knife through the air, sharp edge pointing towards Debilitas now instead of the door. He just puts his hands together, hunches down.   

"What is this?" I muse aloud, watching his quiet form hunch in on itself.

Fiona approaches, hands held high – a mimicry of Riccardo's earlier move, though this time I believe it – eyes pleading.     

"Daniella... it's alright. He's not chasing us anymore." 

Her hand clasps my arm, fingers squeezing comfortingly. I lower the knife, drop it on the counter. The pleased nod she gives me in response is a balm on nerves I never knew I had. 

She hobbles up to him, dangerously close.  

Debilitas goes completely still, hands pressed together, eyes lowered. A picture of reverence. It's completely out of place – and out of character, as far as i'm aware – and I wonder at the change.    

As she comes within touching distance his curiosity seems to get the best of him. He kneels, eyes flicking up to look at her then down again, as if he doesn't want to - or isn't allowed to - look, so he's trying not to be caught doing it. 

His clasped hands rock forwards and backwards as if begging her for something.    

She extends her arm slowly, hesitantly, her small hand reaching out and covering his massive one. 

They stand this way - silent and still - for a long while, Fiona smiling patiently, staring straight ahead. Eventually he lifts his face to meet her eyes. It's only then that she speaks. 

"Thank you, Debilitas." She says softly, voice filled with warmth. "For protecting me." His eyes shift away shyly.   

Her smile brightens in response. She pauses, contemplating her next words, then moves her other hand to cover his.  

"Debilitas..." She starts. Her voice quavers a little, unsure. Suddenly I know exactly what she's going to say.  

_Is this wise? Won't he betray us to regain his master's favour?_

"Are you happy here?"  

The question surprises him. He grunts a little in response and looks away.   

"It's just, me and Daniella" Her hand rises briefly to wave towards me. "And Hewie" She looks down, smiling. Hewie barks, staring back at her adoringly.  

" We're leaving this place. I wondered if you'd like to come with us?"   

He seems unsure, looking down at his feet.  

"Dolly" He says mournfully, and I understand.   

This place Is many things to us – our home, our prison, a place filled with so many bitter memories. But there are still things we'll miss when we leave.   

I think of my garden, the flowers of my Mandragora and their little ashen faces – the closest thing I'll ever have to children of my own – turning to face me like i am the sun, desperate for the warmth, water and soil my hands provide.   

I'll abandon a part of me here when we leave, but it's better than the alternative. Never again will I have to surrender them to Riccardo and Lorenzo's research, or hear the ripping, the tearing, the high pitched screams of my children as the undead devour them alive. To go to a place where only the living walk and the dead do not demand sacrifices? _That_ is worth more than any garden.   

I've made my choice, now he must too.   

"I can see they mean a lot to you. "She says compassionately. "And I'm sure you could take one or two with you, but..."  

She takes a deep breath. "If we leave together, you could have a proper home. One that's warm, with a nice bed and a roof that doesn't leak." His round eyes widen.   

"And... you can have as many dolls as you like. And a shrine - like the one in your shack – if you wanted."   

"Also" She glances towards the door, then back at Debilitas. "You'll never have to take his orders ever again."   

_Ah._ _There it is._

The point that has him thinking for a long time, weighing the chance of freedom against the cost of disobedience. So there's another person in this castle who no longer wishes to obey their master's every command. _Would we have ever gathered the courage to leave if she hadn't come, i wonder? Somehow, I don't think we would._

_...What an unpleasant thought._

He nods, not entirely satisfied – there's still doubt there  – but it's enough to sway him for now.   

She slowly removes both her hands. Instead extending one hand in front of her, palm up. He's nervous, scared to touch her.   

"It's alright." She smiles, and his hand very, very slowly rests on top of hers. She curls her fingers around his and he gives a hesitant smile.   

_So. It seems we have another ally._

It's unprecedented but not unwelcome. With Riccardo retreating to who knows where – probably sloping off to his quarters to retrieve his gun – and master... _Lorenzo_ still at large, we're going to need all the help we can get.   

Danger over, we all just stand silently, awkwardly, not really sure what to do – or how to talk to one another – now the threat has passed. We just glance around the room at each other, hoping someone will make a move.  

Abruptly I remember the food, walking briskly to the stove to check. My movement breaks the tension, setting everyone in motion.   

Fiona leans against the island, finally letting the pain from her leg show on her face. Debilitas just hovers until Hewie strolls up to him. He bends down to let him sniff his hand.   

I look into the boiling pot - the food less a soup and more a stew thanks to Riccardo's interference – then pick up the ladle with both palms and stir it.   

The bottom is burnt; the residue on the stove top and down the pot's side says it's boiled over at least once.   

_I only had one more job to do_ _and you just had to ruin it, didn't you?_   

My emotions simmer. It's only the sound of Fiona's uneven footsteps that stops them reaching boiling point. She sidles up beside me, one hand supporting herself on the counter as she goes on tiptoes to look over my shoulder. Her other hand lands on the small of my back, a warm, comforting weight.   

I look to her, then back to the pot. She grimaces the moment I turn my head and I pretend not to see it.   

"Umm" She starts, choosing her words carefully. " So. Riccardo. I'm guessing he interrupted your cooking. Because it looks..."  

Inedible. Revolting. Ruined. Like it's the product of someone who cannot make a pleasing meal, because she cannot taste.   

" A little burnt." She says diplomatically, her hand rubbing my back soothingly. "I'm sorry, that must be so _frustrating_."  

_It is._   

Somehow, it was important to make something she would enjoy. The deep disappointment I feel is unexpected and unwelcome although it shouldn't be surprising.

Riccardo's words echo in my head:

_"Look at you"_

_"Pathetic"_

_"What kind of woman are you?"_

I swirl the ladle then lift it, just to give myself a distraction.   

Fiona leans forward, eyes it critically, then draws back.   

"I-is that...? That's pasta, isn't it? Because it looks like..." Her face pales a little and she laughs nervously.   

Hair. It's hair from the meat. She leans heavily on the counter and lets out a shaky sigh.   

Debilitas rounds the corner carrying a white chair – most likely from the hallway outside - Hewie trotting happily behind. He plants it on the ground next to her and she smiles tiredly, thanks him, then sinks down into it. He sits on the floor, legs outstretched, Hewie's tail wagging as he bites playfully at his sleeve, earning a loud, delighted laugh.   

It seems all has been forgiven.   

Her face is warm and open as she watches them play. Then she looks back towards me.   

"Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something." I cock my head, urging her to continue.   

"It's... well. You said that you can't taste, so why is it that you're expected to cook for everyone?"   

It's a question I've often asked myself.   

I can understand master... _Lorenzo_ to a certain extent: he's too frail now, often forgetting where things are or if he's started an experiment, leaving me to clean up the mess when it spills over, or explodes.  But I've never understood why he would create someone who can't taste and give them the duty of preparing dinner.   

"I've often wondered that myself."   

She lets out a little 'hmm', eyes narrowed in concentration. It's not the answer she wants but it's the only one I can give.  

"It's a little strange, that's all." She says. Then after a beat, "Have you... ever been anywhere else? Besides the castle, I mean."  

I blink. "The castle has an old mansion attached to it, I've been there." 

She lets out a gusty laugh. "That's not really what I mean. I mean..." She licks her lips, gestures with a hand. "Outside. Like for instance... other towns or villages. That sort of thing?"  

"No" 

"Oh... well. I-I was just thinking. About the things we should do together when we get out of here."  

_The things we should do together._ My eyes slide to hers and her face reddens.  

"Um. I. I mean um. Uh. You know?" She shrugs a little, playing with the hem of her skirt. I don't, but there's something... endearing about the way she stutters, fidgets and blushes, especially when it's me that's caused it. I smile what I hope is a warm smile and her face darkens.

_Interesting_.   

"Daniella!" She laughs, pressing her face against my side. " I was _talking_ about things that you'd like to do! Like for example, when I leave here I'm going to sleep for a week, have the longest shower I've ever had, then order an Indian takeaway and eat everything!" She leans back, eyes mirthful.

"And I won't feel bad about it _whatsoever_ , because you'll all be enjoying it with me."  

I smile faintly at the image of all of us curled together in a bed. It would have to be quite large to fit us all but we'd manage. I look over to Debilitas, imagining how close we might become in the future, far away from this place. I think of Hewie, sprawled over us and snoring gently, and I think...

_Yes._

_This is what I want._  

Fiona looks slightly concerned at me getting lost in my own head, so I answer.  

"That sounds... wonderful." Her concern melts away, eyes soft. "Although you shouldn't waste good food on someone who is unable to taste."  

"I was thinking about that actually!" She says brightly. "You may not be able to taste but you can smell, can't you?"  

I nod, perplexed.  

"That's why I think we should have Indian food first. A lot of different spices are used in the cooking, so the food ends up smelling just as delicious as it tastes. Hopefully you'll be able to enjoy it as much as everyone else. Well... except Hewie. I don't think dogs are meant to eat spicy foods. I'll get him something nice and dog friendly instead." 

Warmth fizzles inside me. She knows the ways in which I'm broken and yet... 

She still reaches out, trying to find ways around my defects instead of blaming me for them or using them against me. I abandon the ladle in the pot, rest one ruined palm against her arm.  

"Oh! Your hands..." She reaches for them both, inspecting my ravaged palms.

"What happened?"

"Riccardo" I say, and her eyes darken. " He interrupted my cooking, pushed me against the stove." Her nostrils flare.

"Unpleasant man" She says crossly. " I can't wait until we're out of here, then you'll never have to deal with him ever again!"

Her touch is gentle, turning my hands over and inspecting the backs of them as well.

"Do you know if there's any salve or bandages anywhere? Only, i'd like to treat your wounds as soon as possible. They look quite deep."

"There's no need" I say, her mouth opening to argue. I get there first. 

"There's a health tonic in the cupboard behind your chair. I've been using it to heal my wounds for quite some time." Her mouth clicks shut and she drags the chair aside.

"This?" She says doubtfully, reaching inside and grabbing the purple bottle. It sloshes as she rolls it in her hand, waiting for me to find a spoon and glass.

I take it from her, pour out a measure for myself and drink it. She watches dubiously as it disappears down my throat.

We stand staring at my palms as the tonic does its work. Before our eyes the blood congeals and i rub gently at it, revealing the shiny new skin beneath.

"That's incredible!" She breaths, hovering over me to get a better look.

"Do you think it would work on my leg?" I nod - i've had many injuries like it in the past. Gingerly she reaches for the spoon. I pour out only a teaspoon and her eyes screw shut as she sticks it in her mouth.

She smiles. "Actually, it's not too bad, it tastes-"

She freezes. The spoon falls.

_Fiona...?_

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona's POV.  
> Drinking the weird potion is a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> Wow, i'm sorry i haven't updated in a while. I meant to but i kind of hated the last chapter and didn't know how to fix it, then there was WEATHER, then i had a huge flare up and got addicted to a bunch of things i bought in the steam sale. And played them for like... a week straight. Sooo yeah.
> 
> I hope you like this chapter though! We're back to Fiona for this one. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who gives kudos, leaves comments or just reads this story! You're all awesome <333  
> Anyway, i hope you enjoy reading x

_Well_ _this was a mistake._    

The mysterious liquid scorches a fiery path down my throat, as though it's burning acid I've swallowed instead of some miracle health tonic. It strips my throat raw, eyes burning just as much as my mouth. After a few seconds all that fire turns to ice, but it's not much of an improvement. It tingles, bubbles, tastes almost minty like toothpaste - a feeling and a taste as worrying as it is refreshing, and all too soon that soothing chill turns unpleasant.

It gives way abruptly to hot-cold numbness, the fingers I can no longer feel losing their hold on the spoon.

It hits the ground with a metallic clink, drawing three sets of eyes to me. 

 _Oh God, what did I drink?_    

Daniella reacts first, a barely noticeable widening then narrowing of the eyes. One newly healed hand drops the bottle on the counter and she cocks her head, staring unblinkingly back at me.   
 

I think she'll move, walk towards me, but a minute passes and frustratingly all she does is stand there, watching.    
 

So I try to call out for help  - to get her to come closer, to tell me what's wrong, or at the very least let her know that I'm not feeling so hot - but my tongue is swollen, a fleshy, alien blob that fills my entire mouth, blocking my breathing and garbling my words.   

 _Well... either that or_ _i_ _just can't feel it. Neither is good news._    
 

Luckily the choking sounds beckon her closer at last, stiffly reaching for me as I try to will my body to move. It's no good – I stay rooted to the spot, the static in my head drowning out her voice. Eventually the fear that I might bite down on my tongue by accident stops me speaking altogether. I close my mouth instead, doing my best not to dribble as Daniella's hand touches my chin.  

She probes my mouth with her fingers, the digits coming away bloodied. 

    
Rubbing her fingers together contemplatively, her eyes dart from me to the bottle, suspicious.  _She's_  fine though - for a given definition of fine - so it probably wasn't tampered with.  

Probably.     
 

 _Maybe this is an allergic reaction? It would be just my luck._   

The others begin to notice something's off,  but slowly, drawn in by the clatter of the spoon and the lull in conversation. Debilitas rises cautiously, hanging back, but Hewie is nothing if not curious, immediately trotting over to press his cold nose against my leg.    
  

And I  _know_  it's cold - he's startled me more than once by barreling into me from behind and squashing his cold nose (or his cold paws, or his cold tongue...) against the back of my legs.So I _know_ what it's meant to feel like, but...  

   
_I can't feel it._   

 

Hewie's ears droop and he paws at me, hard enough to leave little raised pink lines that should sting, but they _don't_.      
  

Daniella sees my lack of reaction, backs away then looks into my face, what she sees there making her eyes widen and her mouth drop open. That look would be comical at any other time, on any other person, but as it is her expression is enough to push me into full blown panic mode.    
 

 _Oh no, what is it? What do_ _i_ _look like right now? Surely it must be bad if Daniella is worried..._    
 

 _Daniella is worried...?_    
 

 _When exactly... did Daniella... get so-_    
 

My ears buzz, thoughts slowing to a crawl and chest tightening as my vision darkens.  

**_No!_  **

_Not right now! Not like this! What if_ _i_ _swallow my tongue and suffocate while_ _i'm_ _-_    
 

Her arms fly up to catch me just as I list to the side, unconscious.     
 

-  

 Smudges of red, orange and yellow gather in the corners of my vision and I jolt awake. I feel woozy like I haven't slept long enough, my body curled protectively around a book lying in my lap.   

I'm in the back of the car, my parents talking quietly in the front as the countryside whizzes past us.   
 

 _This dream again...or... no. Not a dream. It's a memory, isn't it?_    
 

 The hazy red sunset filters in through the window, filling the car with a colour that's both warm and dangerous. Mother shifts in her seat, turning toward me to chide me gently about falling asleep in the middle of one of Father's stories.  

I smile tiredly and there's a flash of white to my left, a streak of bright light that streams past my window that catches my attention before disappearing.  

 _The headlights of another vehicle?_  

 The engine roars as it races ahead then loses speed, the front of the car and its driver drawing level with my window.   

The car – the first we've seen on this winding country road for at least the last hour - is inky black, almost invisible against the backdrop of dark green trees, but for the painfully bright blue-white of its headlights.   

The glow illuminates the front seat, revealing the heavily shadowed profile of a man - Riccardo, I'm sure of it - in a wide brimmed hat with a long, velvet bag propped against his side. He looks toward me, right at me! His mouth smirking and his eyes boring into mine, the only warning I get before he rams his car full force into ours.    
 

One impact. Two. Then three.   

Each blow as loud as a gunshot in the quiet night. My parents panic, crying fearfully, father desperately trying to regain control of the car as it veers wildly off the road. It's no use though: there are Iogs ahead of us, a whole neatly ordered, deliberately positioned pile of them, and nowhere else to go. They spear the windshield, fracturing it and spraying us with thousands of glass shards.    

My book hits the back of her seat just as her head cracks against it, cutting her scream short. A moment later her head and shoulders burst through the glass, slicing her to ribbons and removing any doubt i had that she was still alive.   
 

I let out my own bloodcurdling scream in response, then hear a ripping noise and look down. My seat belt is frayed. Time seems to stop as it rips slowly, slowly in two, sending me headfirst into the seat next to me.   

I lie on my back, dazed, barely conscious with my vision rapidly fading. I'm dully aware that the car has stopped, that the place where i lie largely escaped the damage of the crash.  

There are other things i notice too: I can't hear the other car's engine anymore, but i  _can_  hear the crunching of glass underfoot, the bang of a car door opening and several rapid, frightened gasps that sound like someone struggling to get free...   
 

Is that father? Is he alright? Did he get out...?     
 

A series of wet, disgusting gurgles shatters the quiet darkness and any hope i had left, a terrible sound that ends with a rattling cry, then all consuming silence.  

Father's dead now, i know it.  

 _I'm the only one left._  

The thought is punctuated by the tearing of skin and material alongside a metallic clang, the tip of something sharp - a knife? A sword? - punching through Father's seat, the ornate blade dripping with his blood. It's swiftly retracted, the door shutting firmly again before the heavy, crunching footsteps resume, this time ending right outside my door.   
 

 _He's here, he's coming for me! Oh no, oh no, I have to get out...!_  
 

I'm frozen. Unable to move, to run, to fight, to do anything at all to protect myself from a fate that has already come true. I'm a spectator to this grisly scene instead of a participant, existing both inside my body and outside of it all at once, like watching a movie. A movie whose ending i know but i watch it anyway, unable to tear my eyes from it, fear and adrenaline pumping in my veins as i wait for the inevitable conclusion.    
 

  I just lie there, watch him stare in through the window, casually sweep away the glass and reach in, unlocking the door. He approaches and laughs – heartily, manically – until his gloved hands circle my ankles.   
 

The leather seat squeaks as he drags me across it, one hand reaching for the cord on my skirt and tugging it loose. It moves to the exposed skin on my belly, his face twisting into a sickening grin.   
 

From shock, or fear, or fatigue I lose consciousness, the disturbing memory giving way to darkness, then to an even more disturbing, unpredictable reality.    
 

-   
 

I open my eyes.    
 

The darkness that greets me is so total that i may as well not have.   
 

Since i can't see, i decide to focus on other things. There's a rhythmic thump, the ticking of a clock and the loud, panting breath of a dog. There's even a faint crackle, the sound of a dwindling fire. When i turn my head i spot its faint glow.  

Safe, then. Probably back in the guest room.  

I turn my attention inward next, expecting to feel warm sheets under my fingertips and all around me but find nothing.    
 

Instead my body feels oddly light. Floaty, like I'm suspended in air. It's a euphoric feeling for about 5 seconds before it becomes terrifying, my mind running in all different directions to try and explain it.    
 

I turn, flopping my hand around to find the switch for the electric lamp that I'm at least  _fairly_ certain exists beyond the headboard of the bed. Or maybe on the table to my... left... I think?  

A lot of knick-knacks are sacrificed in my exploration but my hand seems to connect at last - though worryingly I still can't quite feel it -  the lamp's warm glow giving me enough light to see by.    
 

I look down at myself.   
 

I'm lying fully clothed - boots and all - on top of pressed white bed sheets.

 _Definitely the guestroom then._   

Uninjured as far as I can tell – the thin cuts and grazes healing over during my sleep, though I'm still tired. I reach behind my head to undo the clasp on my choker (sleeping in jewellery, especially something that constricts breathing, is probably not a wise idea) and my sluggish fingers tangle in the bird's nest my hair has become, hair tie catching on the fine strands and becoming a knotted mess. _Lovely._

I carefully ease my hair from its bindings, remove my jewellery, then test my leg by swinging it a little, finding that it doesn't hurt at all.  

Or even feel much of _anything_ , really. _That's definitely not worrying at all._

 It's not exactly like my body is still numb, though. It's not like anesthetic, or sleeping on your arm and cutting off circulation. It's more like... sunburn. Or being in the freezing cold and coming indoors. Pin-prickly, hot and cold, under sensitive and over sensitive all at once.  

I slide one hand over the covers, finding that I can hear the rustle but not feel the texture unless I press my fingers firmly against it, the tips turning white with the pressure.  

_No, not numb, not painful, but sort of... sore, I suppose. Dull. It's strange but manageable, as long as it wears off eventually I can deal with it._

I move my leg one more time to be sure that it  _isn't_  just pins and needles, my knee catching on a fold of fabric. All at once my skin feels like it's burning off, the whole area becoming instantly inflamed like I've poured hot wax on it. I double over, gasping through the unexpected pain. 

 _What- What was that? Is this_ _another effect of_ _that purple stuff? Please say this isn't permanent..._  

I catch my breath then look around the room, preoccupying myself with finding Hewie _-_  or anyone else who might be in here with me – instead of panicking about my newest problem.

I don't have to search far.  

I spot a hulking shadow slumped against the door, a smaller one curled next to it. There's a single tiny scrap of material stretched between them, one edge caught in a large fist and the rest with a dog lying on it. It seems there was a disagreement over bedding. 

_Looks like_   _Hewie_ _won th_ _at particular_ _fight_ _..._

I glance over to Debilitas' other fist, raised out of Hewie's reach and clenched tightly around a yellow tennis ball. Then up to his bulging shirt pocket, where the corner of a paper bag – the kind used for storing beef jerky and all manner of delicious doggie treats – pokes out from the top.   
 

 _...But maybe not the war._    
 

The door thumps in time to their breathing as they sleep soundly together and i can't help smiling through the pain, shifting quietly off the bed so i don't wake them.    
 

It's nice, wonderful really, how Hewie has taken to Debilitas. Back in that chapel... i had to hold him back, scold him, and even then he still growled threateningly as he lay defenseless under that chandelier. To think, in such a short time they could become so comfortable together...   
 

 _Comfortable together._  

My stomach swoops, face heating as i think about _someone else_ I've become quite comfortable with. I cover my red face with my hands to hide my (very delayed... why am i thinking about this _now?_ ) shame even though there's no one awake to see.

_Oh God, i almost kissed Daniella that time in the kitchen... could you **be** any more awkward, Fiona?_

It's sad really, embarrassing, not to mention the worst possible time for something like this to happen. It's really not _like_ me to swoon over a pretty face, or get my words mixed up, or keep saying embarrassing things by accident, or think about kissing-

I mean... we've known each other a single day and- and It's not even like it's my first crush! 

There's...that boy that I go to art class with and... and that girl in the coffee shop. Along with a handful of other people i went to school with. Perfectly mundane, perfectly normal crushes, the farthest thing from this place, this _situation_ that i can think of. But then, crushes have always been nothing more than a daydream before. A pleasant fluttery feeling fueled by the knowledge that it'll never happen. It _can't_ ever happen. I don't speak to them, don't get involved, although I let myself dream a little.

My parents wouldn't approve, so... 

They're gone though, and maybe I have...maybe this is happening because I've become involved in someone's life in a way that I haven't before? When I couldn't before? When I had to be friendly but distant, never letting anyone too close in case that closeness upset my parents... in case we had to move again and leave everyone behind...

That's it, isn't it? This is a high stress environment. Didn't I read a news article or something about people bonding through terrible events? I think so. No, i'm _sure_ that's the case.

_Besides..._

I stand up, reach toward the makeshift pouch lying on the floor at my feet - I probably knocked it down here earlier while I was searching for the switch.

_Daniella likely hasn't had a wonderful time here, given by what I saw and... heard earlier._

I cringe, trying hard to forget the rhythmic slap of skin against skin as I root through the bag, find a match and light it. The cheerful glow helps me navigate the stairs in the pitch black.

_She has more than enough on her plate to contend with without me adding my silly feelings to it. What I need now is to focus: Find the key, open the door, get us all out of here in one piece. Then be a supportive friend afterwards._

_**Don't** be weird._

I nod to myself, then scan the rest of the room. I half expect to see the woman in my thoughts sitting rigidly in a chair, sleeping with her eyes open or something similarly scary, but the end of the room seems to be Daniella free. The door here hasn't been barricaded with anything so I jiggle the knob, hoping to find it locked but troublingly it isn't.

  I ponder the wisdom of leaving it unlocked when Riccardo is still out there and we're all in here asleep, moments before it opens. Strong white light escapes from behind the door, searing my retinas and making me raise a hand to protect myself from the offensive light. A duet of high pitched noises tells me the room's other occupants are doing the same.

Daniella emerges and I squint my watering eyes to make out more details than just her silhouette. In one hand is a knife, the other a key; she holds it aloft and smiles triumphantly, a smile that's indulgent but with a mean edge, hinting at whatever trials she had to overcome to get it.

It's an attractive look on her but it's a hundred times worse when her eyes lock with mine, her expression losing a little of its hardness.

_Well, I'm doomed. This might be a Problem._

She sways a little in the doorway and i reel my emotions in, realizing this _really_ isn't the time. She's about to drop and I'm unlikely to be coordinated enough to catch her so i walk forward, offer my shoulder to lean on instead.

She does so heavily, completely out of energy. This close i can see she's a complete mess: her hair is wet, she's missing a shoe and the bottom of her shoe-less, stockinged foot is caked in mud.

_What happened here? How long has she been gone? And for that matter, how long have i been sleeping?_

I shake my head to clear the thoughts. Answers later; rest now.

Luckily she's still able to walk under her own power, at least for a while longer. She shuts the door, locks it tight, then makes a beeline for the nearest chair _._ I have a better idea though so i put my arm around her, steering her toward the bed.

_She's exhausted and i'm still tired. Let's not think about this._

She drops face down onto the mattress the moment she's in range and i struggle to get the covers out from underneath her. I pull off her muddy stocking and her shoe, drag the wine red comforter off the bed and arrange it around Debilitas, then get in next to her, pulling the covers over us both. I reach around her for the lamp's switch, bathing the room in darkness.

The last thing i feel before i fall asleep is her hand clutching mine in the dark.

 

 

  

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, basically.
> 
> And really awkward kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, this is pure fluff pretty much.
> 
> Probably a bit OOC too? but in the game Daniella goes from 'Maid who follows orders' to 'maid who runs around with a shard of glass trying to kill the houseguest she's been ordered to look after' within a day so like, who knows?
> 
> Anyway, thank you Styr0, gabi and guests so much for every kudos and lovely message i've got so far! It's super motivating <33 I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Something slides across my jaw, light enough to tickle.

I wiggle my nose, shake my head a little to dislodge it - it's probably a stray hair or something, who cares? Too sleepy - and hunker back down under the covers. Nothing happens for a moment and i think I've won, smiling a little to myself.

_Ha! Take that, bed head!_

My eyes grow heavy again and my head fills with warm, comfortable fuzz, the thick sheets deliciously warm, perfect conditions for a nice... long... sleep...

Tickle.

_Argh, again?_

A feeling like hair brushing my face, closer to my ear this time.

The sensation throws me a little further from my happy place, eyes scrunching against the intrusion.

_Just... let me sleep. I'm so warm, so comfortable. You better not be a mosquito or something..._

My sleepy, incoherent thought kick-starts the part of my brain that always jumps to the worst scenario, bombarding me with dozens of images of horrible things that could be crawling on my face.

_Didn't i hear about a little boy who had a spider go into his ear and lay lots of eggs? Then he had all these little baby spiders running around inside his ear canal and-_

The train of thought gleefully throws ice water over my comfort, my eyes popping open and a strange, startled noise escaping from my mouth.

"Mnah!"

I squint my sleep-crusted eyes at the darkness (Night time still, or early morning?), the cloudiness finally clearing enough to see across the bed...

...To Daniella, settled on the other side with a quizzical look on her face, one hand hovering uncertainly in the air, as if she'd drawn it back quickly and now doesn't know what to do with it.

_Oh._

Was she... was that _her_?

Her eyes meet mine, eyebrow raised like she wants an explanation for my sudden exclamation.

_Why are you looking at me like that, weren't you...? Wasn't that you?_

A quick feel of my face (earlobes too. Got to watch out for those spiders) doesn't reveal any hidden insects. I let out a sigh of relief.

She's still frozen though, her expression fixed on 'what was that?' but slowly descending into ' have you hit your head?'

_A valid criticism, honestly._

"Spider ears" I nod sagely, brain still scrambled.

There's a very long, very audible pause. Long enough for my brain to catch up with my words and writhe around in embarrassment.

"Sorry" I say, getting my head together "I'm not really awake yet."

Another pause.

The sheets rustle as she settles back down onto her side, lips curling into an amused expression.

An expression that i can see _very_ well, given that her face is _right next to mine_ on the pillow.

_Was... was she always this close, or...?_

Her arm rises. Slowly, slowly it slides into my space, the movement smooth and deliberate.

She flicks her eyes to mine as her hand settles on my neck, checking to see if I'll lash out or tell her to move away.

I don't.

Mostly because there's no air left in my lungs to complain, or form words, or breathe generally, it all having escaped in one big _whoosh!_ with her touch. Either way it works in her favour, her smile gaining a satisfied slant as she relaxes beside me, eyes half-lidded, _hopefully_ with tiredness.

_Hopefully with tiredness. Hopefully going to sleep right now, no more...uh. Touching, and things._

_Because, last time i almost... Actually, let's not go there._

She doesn't do anything else, though.

Just lies perfectly still, her hand just kind of resting there, firm and warm against my throat, and i think that's all there is to it.

So i try to relax, slow my breathing, squash my cheek against the fluffy pillow and close my eyes. Go back to sleep like i planned before Daniella got all touchy feely.

We spend several long minutes in companionable silence, listening to the rhythmic _'tick tock'_ of the tall antique clock and the quiet _'whuff'_ of Hewie's snoring, my pulse returning to normal and eyes getting heavy, on the verge of sleep.

Then her fingers begin to move.

_Daniella..._

I open my eyes, words on the tip of my tongue: _Daniella, could you maybe not molest people in their sleep? That's not exactly socially acceptable and-_

But i catch the captivated look on her face, the way her eyes follow the trail her fingers make across my jaw with something like wonder, and my mouth snaps shut.

The bottom drops out of my stomach when she meets my eyes; i can only hold still, beg myself not to shiver under her curious touch.

Her focus is _intense_.

_What? Why is she looking at me like... when did this happen...?_

This extreme... preoccupation - attentiveness maybe? Something like that - is definitely new. It's a little too much actually, yet strangely not enough, and i can't help but think back to when we first met:

Her monotone voice, blank face, the way she didn't seem present in the moment, like her mind was somewhere far away.

Cold. Detached.

Such a turnaround, in so little time. What could have caused this? Me...?! No, that's-

_The way her face lightened when i told her she wasn't a doll. Her wild eyes and the desperate way she clutched at my arm when i asked her to leave with me. Her confused expression, the tentative hand that she reached toward Hewie when i suggested she pet him. The way she rebelled against her master for the slimmest chance of freedom._

_The way her eyes found mine in that room, with Riccardo, a look in them that said 'i know you'll save me...'_

She's trusted me so much, hasn't she? Even when she didn't understand why i wanted her to do things.

So i make a decision.

_I don't know why she's doing this but... she wants to, so. Let's just trust her for now...  
_

Lying back down, trying my best to relax, i hold as still for her as i can manage. She reads it as the 'go ahead' it is and resumes her touch.

Her fingers skim through the hair behind my ear, tangling in the short hairs at the base of my neck, her thumb chasing a fascination with my earlobe, the shell of my ear.

  I suck in a breath, her eyes widening then narrowing at the sound, fascinated. Her lips upturn into a not-quite-smile, thumb gliding over a reddened cheekbone, hot to the touch from embarrassment.

It slips down and down, over the dent above my lips, then lower still.

_Morning breath_ , i think desperately, trying to ignore the way her finger slides between them, _bed hair, unbrushed teeth, covered in dirt, really, really sweaty._

She changes her hold, runs three fingertips across my lower lip, eyes drawn to it in interest.

_Prob- probably not alone in here, possibly going to get stabbed if i try it. Riccardo, Riccardo, Riccardo..._

Her finger settles in the corner of my mouth, gaze zeroed in as if she can't look away.

Then she licks her lips.

_Oh... oh! That's not..._

_Oh hell._

_**I'm weak. Very, very weak.** _

I tip forward, press my lips to hers, one hand grabbing a fistful of the front of her dress and pushing us close.

It's the barest of pressure, less a kiss and more my mouth resting against hers as i breathe heavily, but the feel of it makes my chest flutter all the same.

Then she stiffens and i realize what I've done.

_Oh, no._

_**What were you thinking!**  
_

I freeze, apologies on the tip of my tongue as i try to meekly withdraw from her personal space, scrabble inelegantly back onto my side of the bed.

I don't get far.

Her mouth chases mine as i back away and i gasp, caught off guard, her hand finding its place at the side of my neck. Little by little she draws me closer until I'm squashed against her front, her other arm sliding along the covers and around my waist, a firm hold that keeps me next to her.

 For a moment she just stares right into my face, eyes wide and unblinking, her head cocked like I'm a puzzle she's trying to figure out. Then slowly, stiltedly, she brings her face close, tilting enough that her lips land on mine, warm and dry.

She kisses like she's practiced it, but there's no emotion in it. Like having to kiss a relative you don't know on the cheek at a family gathering.

_Ok. Alright, so. She's not angry, or mad, or... at least i don't think so._

I let out a relieved breath.

_Maybe i should... help, or...?_

_Not that I'm any better. It's not like I've had much practice either..._

She pulls back with another curious look then dives back in, more confident now she knows the mechanics of it. This time though, i don't just sit there slack-jawed, letting her do all the work. Tentatively i kiss back but our movements are all out of sync, our noses bumping together and hands making a dull _'slap!'_ against each other as we reach for each other's faces.

I shake my hand out - no more numbness, that's a relief - and a bubble of laughter erupts from my chest.

_This is ridiculous!_ I think, shaking with giggles as we try and fail to navigate each other, like two people trying to get around each other on a pavement.

_It's just kissing! How are we managing to fail so badly?_

After a few more clumsy attempts i get impatient, opting to just lunge straight at her instead (Finesse? Subtlety? What is that?) wrapping both arms around her shoulders and pulling her down on top of me, laughing against her mouth.

I taste her answering smile and the bitter tang of her lipstick, the more faint, black-cherry taste of the healing potion underneath.

 From this angle her purple eyes are bright, her smile sardonic a second before she moves back in.

Our kisses turn toe-curlingly warm, slow and deep. It's satisfying to watch her face every time she pulls away, her eyes wide and lips swollen, ultimately being drawn back down to me like she can't stop. I lie there, basking in the intimacy of it, the way her hair falls against my collarbone and her arms surround me like a cage, palms pressed either side of my head.

The kisses peter out eventually though, the both of us being far too tired from yesterday to continue for much longer. Eventually i let her go and she rolls over onto her side, our foreheads touching on the pillow. We just breathe together in the gradually lightening darkness.

"Well" 

The single word hangs in the air for a time, waiting for either one of us to add to it. I break the silence first.

"So, um. I think it's _safe to say_ , touching me like that leads to kisses. Lots of them."

She doesn't reply.

"Um. Thoughts?"

She just smirks, the tiredness in her eyes taking off a little of the edge, reaching forward and prodding me in the nose.

I scrunch it up in response, secretly pleased with her playfulness. It's a good answer after all, and i reward her with a peck to the nose before getting comfortable under the covers.

My smile fades a little when she closes her eyes, extremely aware that this lightheartedness is a pleasant diversion from more troubling things.

There's a lot for us to think and talk about in the morning. Our escape plan, what Daniella and Debilitas did last night when i fell unconscious, that tonic, _this_. And the growing feeling that there's something... something i need to find here before we leave. Loose ends to tie up with my parents, their letters to my Grandfather, which i hope are somewhere in this castle. Which i _hope_ i can convince her to help me find.

Because... i need to know.

I need to know for sure if my parents loved me or not. If they ever cared about me, or were just after something i have.

Somehow, i feel those letters hold the answer, and by reading them I'll be able to decipher exactly what they thought of me, what information they shared, what they were planning to do once they got me here, how much they knew about the residents of this castle...

But for now, we both need to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
